I'll Always Be With You
by JessieBess
Summary: A story of romance and mystery. As 1920 starts, Sybil and Tom are married and living in Dublin and neither can escape the turmoil that embroils Dublin.
1. January 1920

_**Happy New Year to all! This story is rather different for me because most of the time it seems I'm writing about Tom and Sybil getting together but this story starts with them already married and living in Dublin.**_

The crowded pub had been quite warm so the bitter chill in the air as they exited the building was unexpected. Hoping to ward off the coldness, Sybil pulled her scarf a bit tighter and looped her arm more tightly around Tom's arm. Even more surprising than the cold, although really what did one expect in Dublin on New Year's Eve, were the number of people out on the pavements. Despite the political situation, people seemed happy, at least for this evening, and as strangers passed strangers they greeted each other with a smile, a doff of their hats and a _Happy New Year,_ the latteroften in that, to Sybil, unpronounceable Gaeilge. Despite the efforts of Tom and his friends at the pub, Sybil could not quite master the phrase so she resorted to nodding her head and giving a dazzling smile.

It wasn't a long walk back to their flat which was located between the River Liffey and Trinity College, an area much more accepting of a couple such as Tom and Sybil. Money was tight with Tom's earnings from the newspaper a pittance and no hospital willing to hire the English Sybil and she had been dismayed by the small bleak and dreary flats that they could afford. Then one of Tom's fellow journalists had told him of a flat for let by his cousin's wife's brother-in-law (or some such far flung contact that Sybil had come to learn was how much of Dublin operated). Situated over a used furniture store, the flat was larger and far nicer than anything they had looked at and it was affordable if Tom agreed to occasionally drive the store's delivery truck and Sybil worked at the store.

Their stroll was interrupted when Sybil suddenly stopped walking causing a moment of alarm in Tom.

"Is something the matter" he asked before realizing that Sybil's attention seemed to be on the display windows of the store in front of them. It was a store that Tom knew from his childhood for it was one of the finest toy stores in Dublin with a collection of toys that he knew no matter how much he wanted them nor how good he had been that year that Father Christmas would never bring to his house.

"Sybil" he stammered as he looked from the store window to her face. "It's a bit late love Father Christmas has already come and gone."

He waited for her to say something but she continued to stare at the store windows and he knew that look on her face that meant she was thinking of something specific. Was she thinking of her own childhood? A childhood that was a million miles away from his. Or was she thinking of the child she was carrying who would have a childhood more like his? After a few moments he tightened his arm around her waist. "And I think you'll have to work an amazing number of hours at the store to afford the wee one something from this place."

"I was just thinking that" she hesitated as a merry group passed them their laughter filling the air as they ambled down the street.

But when she turned to face him she didn't tell him what she had been thinking as she looked at the shop display window instead offering "You know I've never been in a pub on New Year's Eve before."

"I'm glad I could give you a new adventure" he laughingly replied. Then bringing his face close to hers, his eyes twinkling, he added "and I can think of something else you've done on New Year's Ever before."

"Well I'm sure there's lots of things I've never done on New Year's Eve" she responded tilting her face in that _Lady Sybil_ way. "I've never gone fishing or milked a cow or swum in the ocean or" his outburst of laughter stopped her recitation.

"So next year I should plan a trip to a farm near the ocean?" he jokingly stated after recovering from his laughter. Then, the twinkle in his eye, belying the serious look on his face, he added "you know with all those things the end is the same."

Now it was her turn to look perplexed while his face broke out in a big grin. "I mean you'd have to wash up after swimming or fishing or, meaning you'd have to get naked, meaning …"

xxxxxx

Sybil woke suddenly as if there had been a sharp unexpected noise that crashed her slumber. She opened her eyes to a bedroom bathed in that light grey of that time just before dawn and whatever it was that had so suddenly awoken her must have been a part of her dreams for the only sound was the light gentle snoring of her still sleeping husband. Sybil turned her head to glance at Tom who lay beside her nestled beneath the covers with only his face from the chin up visible.

With his tousled hair he looked so much like the angelic little boy his mother often talked about and Sybil couldn't help but smile. Her inclination was to run her hand through that hair and kiss his forehead but she pulled her hand away before touching him. He had been working so hard lately and he deserved one morning to sleep in although she wasn't sure if it was tiredness from work or the pints he had last night that had him still sleeping this morning.

Last night … Sybil sat up. Today wasn't just a new day it was a near year! She leaned back against the sturdy headboard and thought _my life started anew last year._ _It's like I've finished one book and began another only this new book is so completely different._ She looked around the bedroom, a room of functional furniture not passed down from generation to generation but saved from trash bins or estate sales and restored to usability, a room bare of decoration except for two wooden framed photographs sitting atop the dresser. Although the light in the room was too dark to see them she knew one of the photographs was from their wedding and the other from an all too rare day at the beach. Looking again at her sleeping husband, a sly smile spread across her face as she thought that it was here in this room where she had discovered the physical pleasures of married life _._

Maybe she should … heavens knows it wasn't difficult to get Tom to …giving one last regretful look at his peaceful face she slightly shook her head. Too restless to stay in bed, moving slowly and quietly she rose from the bed, slipping her feet into her soft slippers and wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she took one long last long at Tom before shutting the door behind her as she headed for the sitting room.

Deciding to fix a cup of tea, she headed for the kitchen before settling down in her favorite chair, an overly stuffed lounge chair in a faded floral cotton print. Putting her feet up on the matching ottoman and setting her tea cup on the small table, she sat back and looked across the long wide sitting room which ran the length of the front of the flat. The room was bereft of any architectural detailing, no crown molding or cornices, no ornate woodwork or crystal chandeliers, no marble fireplace. The floors were of a wide-plank oak and the walls were painted a light yellow which gave the room a sunny look especially when the drapes were open on the four wide windows and sunshine poured into the room.

The furnishings, like that in the rest of the flat, had come with the flat and all of it had been restored or refurbished by Mr. O'Hanan the owner of the building and former tenant of the flat. Since his wife had died some three years previously, Mr. O (as Sybil would call him) had moved to a small flat in back of the furniture store. Sybil had made her mark on the room by selling one of her rings and using the money to buy new draperies, a couple of throw pillows for the sofa and a small woven rug for this nook where she now sat.

Before sitting down, Sybil had pulled back the drapes so she could look out the window. The sky had now turned a light gray with the promise of a soon to rise sun. The street, usually bustling at this time of morning with workers and shopkeepers, was quiet on this first morning of the new year. With most of the shops remaining closed today, Sybil knew it would stay rather quiet most of the day. To celebrate the new year, Mr. O was hosting a dinner for his workers later this afternoon. He had returned from his Christmas holidays at his daughter's farm near Athlone with sacks of potatoes, onions, turnips, slabs of bacon, and a large pork roast. Sybil would contribute to the feast with two cakes she had baked and hot rolls she had yet to bake.

But as she sat here staring out the window on this early morning, Sybil's thoughts were not on the upcoming festive dinner. Instead she was much more reflective thinking on this past year and her new life. In many ways it had been much harder than she had ever imagined. Despite all the time she had taken in contemplating Tom's proposal, she wasn't really prepared for the realities; of washing laundry, of scrubbing floors, of haggling at food markets, of trying to stretch their meager budget, of being despised for being English. The last had been the hardest of all for even Tom's family hadn't opened their hearts to her at least not initially but slowly she was accepted by most although there were still a few that ignored her at family gatherings. In some shops she knew the prices were raised or she was ignored the moment they heard her speak.

Despite all that she had no regrets about coming to Ireland for there had been much good these past few months foremost of which was Tom. Their life here might not be the luxurious life of her past or an easy one but they were together and that was the life she wanted.

She thought back to early this morning walking home from the pub when she had stopped in front of that toy store where she saw the fancy train sets and those elegant porcelain dolls and she thought of the child she was now carrying. She couldn't give this child those material things, the things of her childhood. But she could give her child something much more important, she could give her child unconditional love and the encouragement and freedom to explore the world around them. Her child would know what it was like to run barefoot in the grass, the joy of playing in mud puddles, the delight of feeling a gentle rain spraying on their face, the thrill of chasing butterflies, all those types of things that she was constantly reminded were unlady-like behavior.

"What has you up so early this morning?" Tom's voice startled her for she was unaware of his close presence.

"Early?" she laughed. "Have you checked the time?"

"It's just-" his eyes widened as he saw the clock sitting atop tall chest near the doorway.

"I guess things were just a little too exhausting for you last night … I mean this morning" she remarked. "Should I fix you some tea and eggs and bacon in hopes of restoring your energy?"

xxxx

"I can't believe you announced about the baby" Tom said as they walked up the stairs to the door of their flat.

"I didn't mean to Tom" Sybil replied. "It just came out when we were talking about the future."

"I mean we haven't even told my mother yet."

"Well I hardly think she's going to hear about it from Mr. O or anyone else at the dinner."

Entering their flat, Tom automatically reached for the lamp on the table next to the doorway.

"It's just that we were talking about what we hope the near year brings and it just came out" Sybil stated continuing the conversation. "I'm sorry."

"Oh Sybil" Tom reached out and took his wife into his arms. "I'm not angry. I was just surprised that the first people we told are practically a group of strangers."

"Well Mr. O isn't a stranger Tom" Sybil smiled. "And he did say he'd be on the lookout for a crib."

Tom chuckled. "Always so practical Sybil."

"Well we do need to start thinking of these things Tom. There's a lot you need for a baby and it might seem like a way off but it will be here before we know it."

"It's only January 1 and you've already got us zooming ahead to summer."

"Well I just want to be prepared."

But 1920 was a turbulent year in Ireland and nothing could prepare Tom or Sybil for what the year would bring.


	2. February

**A/N: Thank you guest for the very nice review, it was certainly appreciated.**

 **February 1920**

Cillian Branson wasn't sure how long he had been sitting at the small kitchen table in his brother's flat. It had still been dark when he hobbled into the kitchen and even now there was only a hint of lightness coming through the flimsy white curtain that covered the room's sole window. He had slept fitfully, thanks to the throbbing in his arm and ankle, finally deciding there was no sense staying in bed. Maybe he should have taken one of those pain pills the doctor had offered but knowing how scarce medicine was becoming he had decided his wounds weren't grave enough. While he would have appreciated a belt or two of whiskey he hadn't been able to find any so had settled for making a pot of tea.

He was on his second cup of tea when his brother appeared at the kitchen doorway.

"I thought you'd be sleeping till noon" Tom cheerfully teased his younger brother.

"I wish" Cillian replied. "The pain in my arm and ankle kept me up most of the night."

Tom looked at his brother's face with its fresh bruises and the stitches above his eye. "Would have thought you past the bar fight stage by now" Tom retorted as he took a mug and poured himself some tea.

Cillian raised his brow at Tom's words and quickly turned his face away to hide his surprise. He would have bet that once Sybil and Tom had retired to their bedroom she would have told Tom what had really happened to him. But then, he reckoned, life is full of surprises. He couldn't have imagined a bigger one than Sybil being the nurse Dr. Byrne had called in to help him. Who would have thought that his English sister-in-law secretly worked for a republican doctor?

"Eaten anything yet?" Tom quizzed his brother as he began cutting slices of brown bread. Cillian watched as his bother put the slices into a strange spikey looking contraption he had never seen before.

Noticing his brother's stare, Tom chuckled. "It's an electric toaster." Then lowering his voice as if the two brothers were conspiring he said "Sybil never quite mastered the art of grilling bread and I got tired of eating burnt toast so I bought this toaster. Of course I told Sybil it was to make things a bit easier for her."

Cillian couldn't help but laugh at Tom's admission.

"So are you planning on hiding out from Ma until you look a bit more presentable?"

"To be honest Tommy I haven't really thought beyond this moment."

"Well you're welcome to stay here a night or two." Tom smiled warmly at his brother. "It would be nice Cillian. It's been years since we've spent much time together."

Cillian almost blurted out _and whose fault is that Tommy_ but wisely held his tongue. Yet Cillian couldn't help but think it was Tom's fault that the brothers who had once been so close, after all they were only a year apart, had drifted apart. He had understood when Tom chose to work in England where the pay was better and he had been grateful for his brother's generosity in sending money back home to their Ma. What he didn't understand was how the years went by and Tom hadn't returned. Of course that absence was explained when Tom finally returned to Ireland accompanied by beautiful Lady Sybil and since his return it seemed to Cillian that Tom's time had been taken up solely with her.

Cillian didn't think he was hungry but he lapped up the oatmeal Tom made and managed to eat four slices of toast and most of the sausage Tom had fried. During their breakfast the conversation flowed between the brothers centering mainly on reminisces of their shared youth. The conversation and laughter continued as Tom packed his tin lunch pail with two hard boiled eggs and a wedge of cheddar cheese and a good sized chunk of dark bread.

"Sounds like there's a party going on in here." Sybil, wearing a fluffy dark blue bath robe, stood in the kitchen doorway smiling at the two brothers.

As the sound of his wife's voice, Tom turned towards her and smiled then walking up to her kissed her cheek. "Sorry love. Didn't mean to wake you. I guess we just got a bit loud going down memory lane."

"I thought you had to go in early today" Sybil responded to Tom.

Tom looked at the window as if the lightness flowing through the curtained panes would tell him the time. "Oh darn!" He kissed Sybil's cheek again. "I better hurry off."

Sybil looked at Cillian and then at her husband. "Maybe Cillian can entertain me with those memory lane stories."

Tom's face blushed. "Don't you have to work in the shop this morning?"

Waving her hand Sybil replied "Oh that's not for hours."

"You two could continue this tonight at dinner" she smiled. "How about a roast dinner?" While some of her cooking could be charitably described at best as a good effort, Sybil had mastered the art of roast chicken with vegetables.

Tom, with a broad grin and raised brow, looked at Cillian. "I'll look forward to it" Cillian replied.

* * *

Stepping outside of his building Tom stopped for a moment to lift his face to take in the sunshine. After a week of what seemed like a constant chilly mist it was a wonderful change to now be bathed in sunshine. It was still a bit cool but he didn't need to wrap his wool scarf around his neck. The lightheartedness he had felt in his flat with his brother and Sybil disappeared as he ran his hand down the soft wool of the scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and hanging loosely down his chest rather than wrapped tightly around his neck.

All those years of yearning for Sybil, of wanting to run his hand through that glossy dark hair, to gently caress her cheek, to kiss those full lips, to freely talk to her far into the night, to walk beside her holding her hand, he had never truly thought of what their day to day existence in Dublin would actually be like.

 _You're asking me to give up my whole world and everyone in it._

 _And that's too high a price to pay?_

 _It is a high price._

Their words spoken in that familiar garage rumbled through his head as he made his way down the street to another, far different, garage. The scarf, like his fine woolen coat, had been paid with money from Sybil selling one of her necklaces. _We need warm winter clothing Tom and that's far more important than a piece of jewelry I have no need for and that only reminds me of a past I no longer want_ she had said. Yet despite her protestations that she had deliberately brought her jewelry to Ireland to sell and that his work with the newspaper was important no matter if the salary was a pittance, it broke his heart that he couldn't provide better for her.

It was a situation he was determined to remedy and so he hurried off not to the newspaper's cramped offices but rather to a large brick building a few blocks down from their flat. The building had originally been used as a warehouse as its location next to the river made it convenient for small boats to moor and offload their cargo. While Tom suspected that there was still some storage of goods being done on the upper premises, the lower floor of the building was now a garage.

In exchange for a lower rent on their flat above Fergus O'Hanan's used furniture store, Tom had originally agreed to help with deliveries if the need should arise. Just before Christmas, Fergus mentioned that with Sybil working a few hours almost every day at the store, he'd forgo any rent if Tom would keep the two delivery trucks used for the business in working order. It was an offer Tom enthusiastically accepted since he figured routine maintenance would only take an hour or two a week.

Fergus' suggestion that Tom might find it easier to service the trucks at this garage with all its tools available to him seemed at the time rather benign. After all, without those tools, it would be impossible to properly maintain those trucks. A week later this seemingly benign suggestion became fortuitous when Tom was offered further work at the garage by the man he thought was the garage owner who had a fleet of taxi cabs that needed constant servicing. Although Sybil wasn't enthusiastic about him working five or six hours on Saturday mornings she agreed they could use the money especially now with a baby on the way.

Now, without Sybil's knowledge, Tom had begun working at the garage for a couple of hours most mornings before heading to the newspaper office. With this work and that on Saturdays, Tom earned almost double what he made at the newspaper. His love of motor cars had never waned and he found the work enjoyable and for those few hours while he tinkered underneath a motor car the political problems of Ireland were forgotten.

However, Tom soon began noticing some dodgy things involving some of the motor cars as well as the men coming in and out of the garage. Foremost was his discovery of hidden compartments in Fergus' delivery vans, the biggest of which was under the entire length of the truck's seat and certainly big enough to hide a man.

* * *

After refilling Cillian's tea cup, Sybil settled at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea. As she lifted the cup to her lips she carefully looked at her brother-in-law. His handsome face, which looked so much like Tom's, was marred with several bruises and the three stitches just over his right eye. His eyes, a much darker blue than Tom's, looked bleary and with his unshaven face gave him the appearance of a man who had had a restless night.

"I'll need to clean that wound on your arm and change the bandages" Sybil said matter-of-factly after taking a sip of tea.

Cillian right hand automatically touched his left arm. "You didn't tell Tom what really happened." Although Cillian's steady stare showed no emotion the tone of his voice revealed surprise and perhaps puzzlement.

"What was I to say?" Sybil stared back at her brother-in-law. "I can guess what happened but"

"It's probably best you don't know. That way if …" he looked away.

"If what?" Sybil set the tea cup a little too forcefully on the table causing some tea to spill on the wooden table. "If the RIC come around or" she paused "or your friend dies."

Cillian shut eyes. "Do you think Jimmy will …"

Sybil took a deep breath. "I don't think so but it's always a possibility with such a deep wound. The bullet may have done some internal damage that Dr. Byrne couldn't see."

She stood up and filled the kettle with more water before leaving the room. Returning a few minutes later she carried a towel, a wash cloth, and a small leather valise which she set on the kitchen table.

As she set about first cleaning the stitched cut above his eye and then Cillian's bullet wound on his arm he studied her face noting how carefully she concentrated on her work. Her touch was firm but gentle. "You seem to have had a bit of experience with bullet wounds."

She glanced up at his face. "I was a nurse during the war." Her vision returned once more to his arm. "Of course the bullets had usually been removed by the time the patients arrived at our hospital so it was more a matter of treating the wounds left behind."

She looked directly at him once more. "Many died from infection."

"Are you trying to scare me?"

"Just being realistic. You need to keep this clean."

"I was surprised that Dr. Byrne called you to come help him with me and Jimmy."

"I've been working in his office two afternoons a week. Just trying to keep my hand in nursing." Sybil, her hands firmly planted on the table, took a deep breath as she looked away from Cillian. "I'm still hoping I'll get a position at a hospital some day."

Cillian reached out his left arm and covered Sybil's hand with his. "I think you're a fine nurse and any hospital would be lucky to have you on staff."

"No hospital will give me a chance because I'm English even though I'm married to an Irishman. Yet I help a doctor who treats men shot or beaten up by the RIC or the English army. Rather ironic isn't it?" Her voice dripped with bitterness.

She stopped as her eyes filled with tears. Cillian squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry Sybil. Even I …" He stopped talking as she pulled her hand away.

Leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his hair, Cillian looked around the kitchen. He went to stand but grimaced as he put weight on his foot and quickly sat back down. "But Tom doesn't know about all your work for Dr. Byrne does he?"

"It's just occasional work Cillian" Sybil replied indignantly. "Most of the time I'm treating children's cuts and scrapes or the all too common industrial accidents around here."

It didn't really answer his question thought Cillian but he didn't want to tangle with Sybil.

"I think what Tom does for Irish freedom is just as important, maybe more so, than what you're doing Cillian."

Cillian thought it was interesting to see this side of Sybil. He hadn't really had much interaction with her and he was ashamed that he had let her being English color his opinion of her. He now saw her in an entirely different light.

"I'm sorry to admit I wondered why you were here. Wondered what a posh English girl would want with someone like Tom."

"Someone like Tom" Sybil bitterly repeated Cillian's words as she shook her head. "Why is it so hard for-"

"Sybil" Cillian's good arm reached up and his hand wiped away a stray tear from Sybil's cheek. "I realize it now. I see how …" he paused before grinning that lopsided grin so much like his brother's. "I'd say Tom's very lucky."

Sybil gave him a faint smile before she looked down at the table. Neither spoke for a minute or two until Sybil said "Let me see how the ankle is doing."

Feeling around his ankle she smiled. "It doesn't seem swollen much but you should probably sit with your foot up on a stool or chair today."

"I was supposed to drive a taxi cab tonight."

"Cillian you are in no shape to do anything today except rest." Then with her eyes twinkling and a chuckle escaping her lips she added "besides with those bruises and stitches on your face you'd probably scare away any customers."

"Probably not the ones that have had a bit too much at the pub." His face broke out in a grin.


	3. April (Part 1)

**I'm so glad that the last chapter got more interest and I thank you all for the reviews.**

 **April (Part 1)**

The room was barely wide enough to fit a single bed with an iron frame and a tall narrow chest of drawers. An old oval braided rug, faded enough that the colors had blended into muted shades of gray and brown, covered most of the floor space but it fulfilled its purpose of muffling footsteps. Like the rug, the wall paper that covered all four walls and peeling in places here and there had faded to an undiscernible pattern. A large wooden cross nailed on the wall above the bed was the room's only decoration that is if one considered such a thing decoration. Light filtered into the room from a narrow window that ran the length of the wall but was too high up to see out of and, surprisingly, from a square skylight that covered a good third of the room's ceiling.

Placed in front of the chest and beside the bed was a hard straight back wooden chair. From her perch on the chair, Sybil watched the gentle rise and fall of the young lad's bare chest as he slept peacefully. For the first time in two days she had been able to coax the lad into eating and he had slowly devoured the chicken broth with tiny bits of carrots and potato she had made before falling in to this peaceful sleep. His chest and right arm were swathed in bandages covering the damage inflicted by a multitude of shotgun pellets. He'd been lucky that the shooter was a poor shot or too far away and that the two heavy sweaters he was wearing had prevented more serious damage. Then again, as her hand brushed a lock of his light brown hair off his forehead, Sybil supposed if he had been truly lucky he wouldn't have been in such a position to be shot in the first place.

No matter what he was far too young to be lying here in this bed in this dull and uninviting room hidden among a warren of oddly shaped rooms. But that was the foolishness of young lads thought Sybil. Tears welled in her eyes as she was suddenly reminded of other young lads, boys she had grown up with playing hide and seek and sardines, boys who had danced and laughed with her during her season, boys who had blithely rushed off to fight the Germans as if war was just an adventure, something to do before they settled down as country squires. But that war wasn't the lark they thought it would be and far too many of them never come back to those country estates or Eaton Square mansions. She looked at this lad's cheap pants that were a size or two too big for him, hand-me-downs she supposed from an older brother, that had been held up by a strand of rope instead of a proper leather belt. She had been in Ireland long enough to know that this lad didn't have the bright future that those long gone childhood friends of hers had had.

Sybil shook her head and with the back of her hand wiped away her tears. While she may agree with his cause, freedom for Ireland, she did have a slight tinge of guilt for her reason to be doing this work wasn't so much the noble cause of working for Irish independence but rather keeping up the medical skills she had learned treating the wounded warriors of the Great War.

"How is he today?"

The man's gruff voice brought Sybil out of her reverie. She didn't know the man, he hadn't introduced himself during his other two visits, but his height and bulk made him imposing and his steely stare was a bit scary. Unlike so many she had met here his voice lacked the melodic Irish accent she found so pleasant; his was sharper and at times hard to understand but there was no misunderstanding his disdain for her despite the work she was doing.

"Much better" she replied looking at the man before rising from her chair.

She looked him in the eye to try to show she wasn't afraid of him before turning her attention to gathering up the discarded bloody bandages and placing the few medical supplies she had in one of the drawers of a narrow oak chest next to the bed.

"We're here to take him" his voice as flat as if he were talking about one of the chairs or tables Fergus (she no longer called him Mr. O) offered for sale downstairs.

Once again she looked up at the man. Although she thought it too soon she knew the man wouldn't listen to her and besides it was dangerous for her and Fergus and the lads working for him to have this boy here. "His wounds must be kept clean to ward off infection. He'll have to come back here or to Dr. Byrne's office for removal of the stitches in ten or twelve days."

Rather than replying to her, the man nodded to two men standing in the doorway that Sybil hadn't noticed before. One of them was holding upright a homemade stretcher. She was surprised at how gentle the two were in putting the still sleeping lad on the stretcher but noticing the resemblance between the lad and one of them she imagined they might be brothers. The one she thought might be his brother gave her a smile and a nod of his head in gratitude before walking out of the room holding one end of the stretcher.

She followed them down the stairs and into the workshop where furniture was repaired and restored. They didn't elicit a glance from the lad varnishing a beautifully restored sideboard or the lad staining a tall but narrow chest of drawers. Following the large man, the men carried the stretcher to a lorry that had been backed partially into the open garage-like doorway, far enough anyway so that no one in the alley could see what was being loaded into it.

Sybil didn't stop to watch them load the stretcher into the back of the lorry but continued walking through the workshop, part of a large rectangular room that was divided by several curtains into a workshop and a warehouse. The warehouse section, like the workshop, also had a large wooden garage-like door which was currently closed but sunlight filtering in through the large windows highlighted dancing dust motes. Sybil walked across the warehouse and unlocked a wide door that led into the actual furniture shop. The door was often left open so that Fergus could keep watch over both the shop and the workshop. But on those occasions when there was a "patient" or someone using one of the small rooms above the workshop the door was kept closed and locked to prevent a customer from wandering in and seeing something, or rather someone, they shouldn't.

In the shop which was crammed haphazardly with pieces of furniture, Sybil found Fergus placing a sold tag on a small sideboard. Looking up from his work, Fergus raised his brow in a questioning look and Sybil nodded in silent reply.

"The water should be ready for a cup of tea" Fergus said as turned back to his work and placed another sold tag on a wooden lounge chair with a thin cushions for the seat and back.

Sybil fixed two mugs of tea and taking one of them sank into a cushioned wingback chair that Fergus had placed behind the counter just for her. She took a sip of tea, closed her eyes, and gave a sigh of contentment.

"Just what I needed" she murmured as Fergus sat down beside her on the wide square stool that he preferred.

Smiling smugly she glanced at the recently tagged sideboard and chairs and then back at Fergus. "I told you those would quickly sell."

Conceding that he had made those purchases at the behest of Sybil he said "maybe I should take you along on more buying outings."

Looking quite pleased Sybil took another sip of her tea. Although the disappointment at not securing a nursing job was always with her, she was surprised at how much she enjoyed working in the furniture shop. It wasn't as demanding physically or mentally as nursing but she found it interesting. The customers ranged from frugal university students to secretaries and shop clerks who could now afford their own flats, to newlyweds furnishing their first house or flat together to the occasional wealthier bargain hunter. Although most were Irish she was no longer surprised when she heard an English accent.

What was more interesting to her was seeing the transformation of scarred or battered pieces of furniture from chairs to tables to armoires transformed into useable and often elegant pieces. She had even worked on some pieces and took great pride when an item she had refinished or restored sold. But as her pregnancy advanced she found it harder to do such work.

A whole new area of interest arose with Fergus taking her on some of his purchasing forays at auctions and estate sales. And then there were the … she wasn't sure what she'd called it … when they entered abandon buildings looking for salable items that had been left behind or found pieces of furniture thrown curbside.

Fergus looked at Sybil as she contentedly sat in the chair drinking her tea. He would never admit that he had ulterior motives when he rented the upstairs flat to Tom and Sybil and how pleased he was that both had suited his purposes but he was surprised at just how fond he had become of them especially this English Lady _. If only all of her kind was like her_ he thought.

* * *

"It's lovely Tom" Sybil cooed in that way she had as she looked around the room with its walls painted an azure blue and trimmed with stark white mouldings. The blue and white striped coverlet on the double bed and three seascape paintings contributed to give the room a nautical feel as was appropriate for a hotel in this seaside village.

Although this wasn't the fanciest or most expensive hotel in town, Tom agreed the room was quite nice. It had helped that when the owner saw Sybil, whose belly now extended enough that clothes no longer hid her "delicate" condition, had said that since the hotel wasn't even half full with it being too early for the summer tourists she'd give them one of the better rooms, one of the few with a toilet and wash sink. _I know what it's like to need to use the loo two or three times in the middle of the night ducky_ she had quietly whispered to Sybil.

Yet as they had taken the staircase up to their room Tom couldn't quite shake that nagging sensation he had. Despite there being a perfectly fine tramway that ran the 10 miles or so from central Dublin to Howth, Fergus had insisted that Tom drive one of the furniture vans and had even given him money for the gasoline. _It'll give you an opportunity to see how it runs_ Fergus at said. Back in 1914 Howth had been a center of gun-running and Tom knew a local branch of Sinn Féin was still active in the area. And it had been Fergus who had recommended this hotel supposedly run by a cousin of his dear late wife. As Tom ascended the broad carpeted staircase to the second floor he couldn't help but wonder if there was a particular reason Fergus wanted the van fitted with its secret compartment here in Howth.

Spotting the French doors on the far wall Sybil rushed over and flung it open. "We have our own balcony" she gushed as she stepped out on the balcony. "Oh Tom come look at this view."

Flinging their small bag onto the bed, Tom joined Sybil on the balcony from which they had a picturesque view of Howth's harbor with its two piers jutting out into the Irish Sea and forming an almost U shaped shelter for an array of mostly brightly painted red or blue fishing boats. A few boats, their white sails in stark contrast to the deep blue of the sea and the lighter blue of an almost cloudless sky bobbled gently past the lighthouse that stood guard at the end of the longer pier. In the distance a small rocky outcropping, a tiny abandoned island called Ireland's Eye, rose up from the sea.

"Aye it is beautiful" Tom remarked. Wrapping his arm around Sybil he continued "I was afraid my childhood remembrances of here might have just been child's fantasy. Of course back then I wasn't into scenery but fantasized about taking a boat ride or watching the fisherman come in with the catch almost tasting that delicious fish we'd have for our lunch.""

Returning his smile with one of her own, Sybil leaned her head on Tom's shoulder. "I think it's just perfect."

"Actually" Tom started before kissing the top of her head and then continuing "I think this is even better than I remember."

They stood there holding on to each other, admiring the view and basking in the welcomed sunshine of the late April day.

"Do you know Tom the only other time I've been in a hotel was the Swann Inn?"

Surprised by this Tom pulled away so he could directly look into Sybil's eyes but before he could say anything she said "and this is so much nicer don't you think?"

He looked once again out at the harbor and the sea beyond and then at Sybil. Giving her that now familiar lop-sided grin he said "and this time I won't be sleeping in a chair."

She laughed. "Don't count your chickens before they hatch Mr. Branson we'll have to see how the rest of the day goes before deciding that!"

"Oh" Tom murmured in her ear as he pulled her close and his hand began wandering down her back. "What might I have to do to earn your good graces?"

"Well for starters I think it's time for luncheon." Rubbing her hand across her belly "this little Branson is demanding some nourishment."

As she pulled away from him and glanced at the small round wrought iron table and two matching chairs she asked "Do you think we could eat our lunch out here?"

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes matching the grin on his face he replied. "If, my lady, you can hold on for a few minutes I know of an even better spot."

Much to Sybil's exasperation the walk to the tramway and then the wait for the next tram and then the short ride up the hill and the longer walk to where Tom declared it a perfect spot took much more than a few minutes. Summit Hill, supposedly the highest point on the small Howth peninsula, was set in a wild heathland dotted with butter yellow blooming gorse and offered a spectacular view out across the Irish Sea. Off to their right the rugged heathland dropped in stages jutting out into the sea with the final cliff capped with another lighthouse. It was Sybil would have to admit a most breathtaking spot.

Before Sybil could spread the blanket on the ground, Tom grabbed her hand and pointed to a barely visible speck of land far off in the distance. "See that over there it's Kingstown where you stepped ashore to Ireland a year ago today."

Sybil's eyes widened in surprise. "A year ago today?" she exclaimed. How could she have forgotten such a momentous event?

"In some ways Sybil I'll always think of this, today, as our anniversary" Tom said as he squeezed her hand "because that day is when our life together really began."

His words and sentimentality brought tears to her eyes but Tom became alarmed at seeing those tears. "Love" he said as his hand caressed her cheek "are you thinking … thinking … do you have any regrets?" Although he was scared to hear her answer he couldn't help himself to ask the question.

Slowly she shook her head no. "I made my decision Tom and I" she took a deep breath, her lovely blue eyes focused on his "I love you Tom." Then standing on her tiptoes she flung her arms around him and kissed him passionately.

* * *

Contended after devouring the feast Sybil had so diligently packed that morning in the wicker basket, three small ham and onion tarts, a wedge of cheddar cheese, four hard-boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, and a tiny jar of pickles, Tom laid on his side with his arm bent at the elbow and propping up his head while Sybil sat a foot or so away from him.

"Those summers as a kid when we'd come here I'd always want to get off when the tramcar stopped here and walk out to that lighthouse" Tom said as he gazed out to the faraway tower "but Ma always said we'd be too worn out to then walk to the village and then we wouldn't be able to have an ice cream."

He glanced changed from the lighthouse to Sybil. "And believe me that ice cream was the highlight of our trip here. You can't imagine how much of a treat it was for us. Us kids would spend the time in the tramcar here from Dublin talking about what flavor ice cream we'd get."

"It probably cost my Pop a week's wages to bring us here for the day." Tom's eyes clouded over and his voice grew softer. After a pause he continued "he was a wonderful man and he deserved a better life than he had."

Sybil reached out and placed her hand over Tom's. "I wish I could have met him."

Tom curled his hand over Sybil's. "He'd have said Tommy my boy you've reached the stars with that one."

Not wanting to feel so maudlin, Tom laid his head back down on their blanket and looked up at the sky. "Coming here to Howth was one of the highlights of my summer when I was growing up. We'd only come for the day. Ma would say it was a reward for us doing so well in school but I think she and Pop liked to come here just as much as us kids."

"Ma and Pop would sit on the beach and watch us splash around in the water. Then we'd come back to the harbor and run along the piers watching the boats. We'd all go home quite tired with our skin a bit red from the sun and our bellies full from the fresh fish and chips we'd have for lunch followed by that delightfully rich ice cream."

As he talked Sybil rubbed her hand across her belly and in her mind she saw a little boy of five or six with Tom's fair hair and blue eyes and his face reddened by the sun. "It sounds so wonderful Tom. We'll have to do that with this little one."

Then she looked at him with that impish look she had and Tom thought how wonderful it would be to have a daughter with her mother's dark curly hair and lively blue eyes.

"Maybe we could go now for one of those ice creams" Sybil shyly said.

"Ice cream?" Tom looked in amazement at her. "After eating two of those tarts and most of that cheese and half that loaf of bread how could you possibly have room for ice cream?"

Straightening her back, she tilted her head, giving him that oh so _Lady Sybil_ look. "I am eating for two you know" she declared.

Waiting for the tramway for a ride back into town Sybil talked of the time when she was little and had visited her grandparents in New York and her grandpa took her to Coney Island. "We'd built a sandcastle and then the incoming water washed it away and I cried so my grandpa bought me a hot dog and this fuzzy stuff called cotton candy to make me forget about my ruined sandcastle."

It wasn't until they boarded the tram that they realized the glowing sunny day was slowly disappearing and from the safety of the tramcar they watched as storm clouds far out to sea edged closer and closer to the harbor until the small island of Ireland's Eye was no longer visible through a sheet of rain. By the time the tramway let them off in the center of town it had begun to sputter rain drops and making a lumbering dash for their hotel the sputtering rain drops turning into a gentle rain and then just as they reached the wide covered porch of their little hotel turned into a downpour. Stopping on the porch to catch their breaths they sat down in two of the white wicker chairs sheltered from the rain laughing at their luck in missing the worst of the rain.

And then just as suddenly as it had come the rain stopped and rain puddles glistened in the sunlight. They walked up the staircase and entered their room where Sybil immediately went to the French door and opened it to let in that clean fresh smell the air always has after a quick rain.

"Tom come quick" she called as she stepped out onto the rain soaked balcony.

Like Sybil, his face lit up with a smile as he looked towards the harbor where the most gorgeous rainbow made of the deepest red, yellow, purple, and blue, looked as if it was spewing from the top of the lighthouse and arching across the sea.

 **Note: I intended this to be just one chapter but as how things often do it was getting quite long and I have a bit more to write about Sybil and Tom's two days in Howth so I'm breaking it into two chapters. Hopefully the second part will be posted within the week.**

 **As always I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story. And** **just to note for a bit of accuracy in 1921 the town of Kingstown was changed back to its Irish name Dun Laoghaire.**


	4. April Part 2

Tom looked around the room with its timbered beams crisscrossing the low ceiling, whitewashed walls of crushed shells and stone, and a huge stone fireplace that during the winter months probably warmed the entire room but now had only the barest of fires whose embers gave the room a romantic glow while erasing any chill lingering from the recent storm. Perched on the small rise just above the harbor the restaurant's windows had a lovely view of the harbor where gas lamps set along the wooden piers illuminated boats gently bobbing up and down and the beacon of the tall white lighthouse beamed out into the darken sky and cast rays of light on the Irish sea.

Seated opposite from him, Sybil stretched out her arm across the starch white tablecloth and her hand clasped his. "This is lovely Tom."

He thought her smile was as bright as any lighthouse beacon. It was a treat for them to be in a restaurant like this since the rare times they ate out were usually at the local pub or the two or three times when out exploring Dublin city they had lunch or tea at a tea shop.

"Quite different from your first night in Ireland" he replied with a gentle chuckle.

The look that crossed her face before she turned towards the window alarmed him that he had ruined the mood and he gently squeezed her hand. Still looking out the window, her voice barely above a whisper she said "Then I wasn't sure what to expect. I was scared your family wouldn't like me or accept me. I remember you standing so close to me with your hand gently rubbing up and down my back giving me encouragement. "

She turned back to face him, her eyes twinkling and her lips curved into an impish smile. "And I remember that night lying in that small bed in that room with your two sisters and thinking soon … soon I'll be lying in a bed with him and wondering what that would be like."

She leaned in towards him as if telling him a secret. "I don't have to wonder about that anymore."

* * *

The meal was wonderful. They splurged on an appetizer of Dublin Bay prawns followed by a local fish caught that morning and grilled to perfection accompanied by roasted potatoes and carrots. Proclaiming they were too full neither ordered desert but after their empty plates were taken by the waiter they lingered at the table finishing the bottle of wine.

Delighted that the food had been as good as they hoped they contentedly walked back to their hotel with her arm looped tightly through his.

"I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't remember the significance of today" Sybil softly spoke. "How could I have not remembered?"

* * *

Whatever thoughts Tom had of after dinner delights were crushed when he returned from the loo to find Sybil lying in bed dressed in her nightclothes fast asleep. As he eased into the comfy bed he thought she might awake and for a moment it appeared she would when he laid down next to her and kissed her forehead. With her eyes closed she snuggled up against his chest, sighed deeply and then drifted off to sleep once again.

In the darken room, Tom felt a sudden chill. He pulled the covers a bit tighter and moved closer to … he sat upright as he realized he was alone. He looked towards the loo and even in the dim light could tell it was empty. Wondering where the chill was coming from he looked at the French door and noticed it was slightly ajar.

Wrapping the bed's coverlet around him he went to close it but as he approached the door he sensed someone was out on the balcony. Looking through the glass door he saw a figure sitting in one of the wrought iron chairs and it took him a moment to realize it was Sybil.

Stepping out onto the balcony he saw that she was wearing her coat over her silk night robe. "Sybil love whatever are you doing out here in the cold?"

She didn't look at him but continued staring straight ahead to the harbor. The gas lamps on the piers were still lit but their brightness was dwarfed by the brilliance of the lighthouse beacon which shimmered across the blacken sky while casting rays of glimmering light on the sea below. The air was still as if the afternoon storm had blown away any hint of breeze and the quietness was broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the piers and the moored boats.

"Sybil" he once again softly called her name as he touched her shoulder.

At the feel of his hand she turned and looking at him smiled. "You asked me this afternoon if I had any regrets." Then she once again turned her sight towards the piers and the deep Irish Sea beyond.

"There are things I miss Tom. I miss nights like this and sitting outside and looking up at the moon and the stars." She tilted her head back. "Look up there Tom."

He followed her gaze skyward where a perfectly shaped quarter moon looked as if it had spilled a dozen or more stars, all of which gleamed brightly in the surrounding black sky. It was a wondrous sight.

"I never thought how a city can ruin such a view. Dublin is so often too foggy and the fumes from the factories …" her voice trailed off as her head moved from side to side as if trying to memorize the sight above her.

"I confess there are times I miss having a cook" she looked at him and smiled "and I'm sure you sometimes miss that too."

He chuckled as he sat down in the chair next to her. There had been many burnt or undercooked meals in the beginning of their married life but she had certainly improved and he even looked forward to a few of the dishes she cooked.

"There are certainly times when I miss having a maid. I don't mind dusting or sweeping but I confess I hate scrubbing floors."

"And-" she took a deep breath. It was a moment or two later before she spoke again. "I … I … I do miss my family or at least I miss … I miss how they … we … once were. I sometimes see a small child with someone who I think is their grandfather and I realize my child will never …" she paused as she took another deep breath "never spend rainy afternoons sitting on their grandfather's lap reading books or chasing after a dog while their grandfather walks behind them waiting to catch her when she falls."

"Sybil I-" he stopped as she reached over, her hand searching for his and then grasping it tightly.

"I honestly thought they'd come around Sybil. Even after all he said and that we had to flee that night I still thought-"

She squeezed his hand a bit harder as she stared straight ahead.

"I imagine Matthew is married to Lavinia and Mary has finally married Sir Richard and-" her voice quivered for just a second and she paused but when she spoke again her voice was strong and clear. "I loved them but they made their choice and I made mine."

Turning to him she stroked his face. "I was bored at Downton. I was bored with my life there. The war and you showed me that I could be something different from what my family expected of me. And just because I sometimes miss something from my old life or my family doesn't mean I regret my decision. I could never regret loving you."

* * *

The new morning ushered in bright blue skies and with that glorious sunshine came a warmth that beckoned Sybil and Tom to the beach just a short stroll past the western pier. Luckily it was low tide leaving a wide stretch of sand on the cove-like beach. Leaving their shoes and stockings higher up on the beach, Tom rolled up his pants and he and Sybil, thankful her skirt only came mid-calf, acted like two children walking along the hard sand at the water's edge and darting away and laughing as the waves washed ashore. Several times one or the other, usually Sybil who wasn't quite so nimble these days, didn't move fast enough or misjudged how far the sea water would rush up the sand resulting in a swirl of icy cold around their feet.

"Oh Tom there's another one" Sybil pointed at a particular seashell, her voice and finger commanding he stoop and pick it up and add it to the others they had collected.

Sybil raised her brow and with an exaggerated sigh and a tilt of her head said "I'll put them in a jar and set it on that high side table in the sitting room and that way we can always remember this wonderful trip" in answer to Tom's question as to what she wanted with the shells.

Lunch was sitting on a bench on the pier eating fresh fish and chips while around them was the normal hustle and bustle of the little port. Fishermen unloaded their catches sometimes fending off sea gulls squawking as they darted from lamp posts and masts, sails flapped against their rigging, sea water loudly lapped against the pier and there were the occasional barks of seals that lumbered around the harbor.

"It's been a wonderful break" Sybil said between bites of warm fried cod.

"Aye it has been" Tom agreed. "It's nice to get away from the city and work and just be by ourselves with no cares or worries."

Sybil wrinkled her brows and forehead as she looked at him. "Are you worried about something?"

He slowly shook his head. "It's nothing in particular love." He rolled up the paper that had held his fish. "Sitting here where it seems so tranquil it's … it's hard to believe we're fighting for our independence and I fear things are going to get much worse."

Sybil's thoughts flashed to that young lad, his chest and arms riddled with shotgun pellets, in the hidden room above the furniture workshop. Should she tell Tom what she had been doing for Dr. Byrne, for Fergus, for … Cillian. She looked at his handsome face and could see the worry in his eyes. No she couldn't give him anything else to worry about. Besides with the baby coming in a couple of months …

* * *

Being on a tiny peninsula one had to leave Howth by way of another small town called Sutton. From Sutton one could take a road leading north that skirted the sea or the road towards Dublin that ran along Dublin Bay. In another month or two the road to Dublin would be full of motor cars heading to and from the coast filled with people enjoying a summer day at the beach but today there wasn't much traffic. Most lorries had already made the trip to the city filled with the morning's catch of fish so the lorry Tom was driving stood out among the few motor cars.

Sybil, leaning against the window, had fallen asleep almost as soon as they left Sutton leaving Tom alone with his thoughts. He glanced over at her once again and marveled how this wonderful woman had fallen in love with him. Last night had been the first time she had talked about her family since those first weeks in Dublin.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't quite perceive what the lorry almost blocking the road ahead might mean. It wasn't until he was within a few yards of the lorry that he realized it was an English Army vehicle. Realizing he was going to be stopped Tom silently prayed that it would be a cursory check for he knew, he had instantly known by the feel of it as soon as he had driven a few feet, that there something heavy hidden in the compartment underneath the seat he and Sybil were sitting on.

Five soldiers surrounded the front and side of the lorry and one motioned for Tom to step out of the cab and he did so slowly and deliberately for he had heard too many tales of guns fired by nervous soldiers on just as nervous drivers.

"Delivering furniture?" the man barked as he read the writing on the side of the lorry.

Tom shook his head. "We work for the furniture shop but we just used the lorry to visit Howth." Then looking up at the lorry cab and a now awake Sybil he continued "It's our first anniversary and I took my wife to Howth for a little break."

"Then you won't mind us having a look in the back" the soldier said as he motioned for two of his men to follow him while the other two stood with their rifles pointed at the lorry.

A moment of panic raced through Tom for he hadn't checked the back of the lorry. They had placed their small suitcase in back of the seat and not in the back. He unlocked the back of the lorry hoping that his fear and nervousness was not apparent as he started to open the door.

"Open it slowly" the soldier barked as he and his men stood with their rifles trained on Tom and the lorry's back door.

To his relief the lorry was empty except for some ropes and blankets used to secure furniture from moving around. But although it was apparent the lorry was empty one of the soldiers jumped into it and pounded on the walls.

Satisfied that it was empty the soldiers moved towards the front of the lorry. One of them opened Sybil's door and curtly told her to get out. Tom leaped to help Sybil out but another soldier, using the butt of his rifle, told him to stand still. "She's with child" Tom cried out knowing that Sybil needed help to get out of the lorry.

Nodding at him, the first soldier lifted his hand to help her. Tom watched in amazement and admiration as a steady and calm six month pregnant Sybil excited the lorry. Thinking that all those years of being _Lady Sybil_ had prepared her for this Tom would have laughed out loud if the situation wasn't been so dire.

"Did you enjoy your trip to Howth?" the soldier asked rather sarcastically but his eyes widen in disbelief when Sybil replied in her posh upper class English accent "I had a lovely time at the seashore. It was quite beautiful as is most of Ireland."

"You're English" he blurted without thinking.

"I am. I am Lady Sybil Branson, daughter of the Earl of Grantham" she replied in a tone that would make Violet Crawley proud.

* * *

"Oh Tom that was just horrible" Sybil said as they motored away from the check point.

He glanced at her and smiled. "You were absolutely wonderful. I don't think your grandmother or your sister Mary could have done better."

"If I had been my grandmother those soldiers would now be on their way to the gallows" she laughed in reply. But the laughter soon fell away. "You hear so many stories Tom of soldiers …" she looked out the window "It's the first time I've been scared Tom really scared."

She leaned over and laid her hand on top of his. "It really is a war isn't it?"

* * *

He let Sybil out in front of the furniture shop and the doorway to that led up to their flat and then drove around to the back of the store. The warehouse doors were closed when Tom glided the lorry to a stop in the alleyway but obviously Sybil had told Fergus they were back for Tom had no sooner stepped out of the lorry than the warehouse door opened.

"Back her in" Fergus called out to Tom.

Doing as Fergus said, Tom backed the lorry into the warehouse and then jumped out of the cab. "Is Sybil here?"

"She went on up to the flat" an unconcerned Fergus replied. "How did the lorry drive?"

"I don't know exactly what you're involved in Fergus but I don't like being used." Fergus was surprised by Tom's anger.

"This side of Sutton we were stopped by an Army checkpoint" Tom continued. "Luckily they didn't search too carefully but then that hidden compartment isn't easy to find."

"Tom I don't know what-" Fergus began but Tom quickly cut him off.

"I'm a very good mechanic Fergus. I work on these lorries. Not that I was searching for them but it didn't take me long to find their secrets."

"Look Fergus I'm grateful for the work you've given me and Sybil in return for the rent free flat. But I won't be involved in something I don't know about. I won't be used and I certainly won't endanger Sybil."


	5. July 1920

**July 1920**

"You look like you just finished a hard day's work rather than just beginning you day" Meg O'Shera smiled at her cousin Tom as she set a mug of steaming tea in front of him on the kitchen table.

Tom gave her a rather weak smile. "Sybil's having trouble getting comfortable and her tossing and turning is keeping me awake."

He took a sip of his tea. "So she's finally sleeping and I have to go to work."

"Maybe you should try sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room."

Tom glared at his young cousin. "I may have mentioned that and thank heavens the closest thing on her nightstand was a book. It barely missed my head when she threw it towards me.

Meg chuckled. "Ah … so the sweet and genteel Sybil has a temper."

"More like grumpy and grouchy which unfortunately are words I might have let slip."

"You didn't Tom" Meg, hands on her hips, glowered at him. "Too bad the book missed."

A sheepish Tom lowered his head. "Let's just hope that this baby comes soon" he mumbled.

"Well it won't be long now" Meg countered before chuckling "and then it will be the sounds of a wailing baby that will be keeping you awake."

"You're just full of good cheer this morning Meg. Are you sure _**you**_ got enough sleep last night?"

"Slept like a baby … oops … or should I say-"

"You know you are here only on a trial basis" Tom tried sounding stern but the gleam in his eyes belied that pretense. "I hear the fish monger is looking for help."

"Ah but then you'd be tired and hungry" Meg laughingly replied as she set a plate filled with two fried eggs and a generous portion of sausage in front of him.

As he dug into his food Tom admitted to himself that since Meg's arrival the quality of his meals had greatly improved but he wisely chose to keep silent on that fact.

* * *

Meg had long finished washing the breakfast dishes, sweeping the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the kitchen table and counter and was now ensconced in the sitting room's overstuffed lounge chair, her knitting on her lap forgotten as she contentedly watched through the window the world passing by on the street below. She marveled at how different this street of shops and businesses was from the quiet main street of her small village on the outskirts of Dublin. There she was more likely to see a farm hand walking a cow down the road or pushing a cart of hay than businessmen dressed in suits or workmen in their company's uniforms. However, of greater interest to her were the smartly dressed women, many of whom were not much older than herself, looking so fashionable with their pretty dresses and some with their hair cut in short bobs or with bangs peeking out from under their hats, on their way to their jobs as secretaries or bookkeepers. To Meg even being a shop clerk seemed so much better than being a barmaid or servant which were the more likely opportunities available to someone like her.

Although she had only been staying at Tom and Sybil's flat for just over a week Meg had begun to recognize some of the workers who filed past. There were two girls who were the most fashionable and Meg was just sure they worked at the dress shop three blocks away from the more tradesman-like business of this immediate block. Yesterday afternoon she had stood in front of the shop's windows admiring the dresses in the window display. Trimmed with delicate lace or intricate beading Meg was sure the material was silk and she imagined these were the types of things Sybil had worn back at her castle.

This morning she had been sitting here long enough that the workers and shopkeepers she had seen earlier had made their way to their offices and shops and now customers were beginning to fill the pavement.

"Seen anything interesting this morning?" Sybil couldn't help but smile seeing Meg intently watching out the window and she expected Meg to tell about some dress or hairstyle she had seen.

Meg quickly turned away from the window and towards Sybil, her cheeks rosy and her blue eyes sparkling. "Oh Sybil I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course not since I'm so light on my feel even though I look like a beached whale" Sybil laughingly replied as Meg stood.

Meg couldn't help but smile at her cousin's wife. It had certainly been the talk of the family when Tom had returned from England with Lady Sybil Crawley as his intended wife. Many of course had been horrified at the thought of Tom marrying an English aristocrat, some had even refused to meet her, and some had secretly bet on how long Lady Sybil would stay before fleeing back to England but Meg had thought it terribly romantic.

"The water is hot for your tea" Meg said as she took a step towards the kitchen. "What do you feel like eating this morning?"

"Meg you don't have to wait on me."

"But Sybil-"

Sybil raised her hand "You're here to help me with the baby and since this little guy seems intent on delaying his entrance as long as possible I-"

"I thought you thought it was a girl" Meg couldn't help but interrupt Sybil.

Sybil looked down at her belly which now blocked her view of her feet. "I'm sorta hoping it will be a girl just because Mrs. Branson and her-" Sybil's hand flew up to her mouth and Meg starting laughing.

"You don't want your mother-in-law to always be right."

"Oh Meg how did you get to be so wise!" Sybil hadn't known Tom's young cousin very well before she came to stay with them. Among the many things that had surprised Sybil since coming to Dublin was Tom's extended family. She had known about his mother and siblings but wasn't prepared for the myriad of uncles, aunts, and cousins along with nieces and nephews and some she still hadn't mastered exactly who they were. Meg's mother, Maeve, was Fionnoula Branson's sister and the two women seemed quite close although Maeve's flightiness and lightheartedness was quite a contrast to the more sensible and down to earth Fionnoula.

Meg was one of eight children and unlike the Branson household where all the siblings resembled each other with the same shade of blue eyes and just slight variations of dark blonde to light brown hair, the children in Meg's family ranged from the black haired and dark eyed Roan to the very blonde and bright blue eyes of the youngest Maud. Meg was somewhere in between with hair a bit darker than Tom's but blue eyes almost the color of Sybil's.

The girl had just finished school and was in a quandary as to what to do next. She had admitted to Sybil that she longed to go to university but lack of money made that impossible yet she was determined not to go into service or end up married and a mother before she was 20. In many ways Sybil saw something of younger self in Meg; a young girl who wasn't satisfied with her lot in life, who had a desire to do something different from what was expected of her, who had a thirst for knowledge and adventure.

Still looking down at her belly Sybil began running her hand up and down her swollen belly. "Well … whether it's a boy or a girl I just wished he or she would hurry up and come. My back is killing me, I can't sleep, and I need to pee every five minutes."

"I don't think it will be long now Sybil" Meg smiled at her. "I can see that it's definitely dropped in the past week so it will be soon."

Surprised at Meg's comment Sybil's brow raised as she looked at Meg.

"I've watched two of my sisters who have five children between them, all under the age of four, so I've learned quite a bit."

"Well you certainly know more than me. Even with my nursing I've had no experience with childbirth." Sybil ran her hand across her belly one last time. "I certainly hope you're right and I'm sure Tom does too."

Remembering Tom this morning Meg couldn't help but chuckle. "He did look a bit tired this morning."

* * *

A few days later with Tom at work and Meg downstairs in the shop helping Fergus, Sybil, who had forgone that comfortable lounge chair that proved to now be impossible to get up from without help, was stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room, her back and head propped up by a stack of pillows. The windows were open and the drapes billowed in a cool breeze that gave a hint of coming rain.

Looking at the movement of the drapes, her thoughts surprisingly drifted to the first time she had seen this room. She had known as soon as she walked through the doorway that this was the flat she wanted for her and Tom's first home and in the past year it had become just that – their home. They had spent the first night of their marriage here and had recently celebrated their first anniversary here. She laughed thinking of that most celebratory moment and how they had sat on this sofa, the room softly lit by candlelight, dining on take away fish and chips washed down with two bottles of ale. It might have been an unconventional choice but it was what she had wanted. For her take away fish and chips, and a pint of ale she might add, something she had never had until coming to Dublin, represented her new life.

But there had been many wonderful evenings in this room, sometimes surrounded by Tom's family or friends, sometimes just the two of them. How many evenings had they spent sitting on this sofa, Tom's arms wrapped around her or her head resting on his shoulder, reading or talking far into the night. She blushed thinking of some of the other things they had done in this room.

The past year might not have been exactly what she had in mind when she had agreed to leave Downton and marry Tom but it had been a wonderful year and she didn't for one minute regret her decision.

Sybil was so lost in thoughts of the past year that it took her a moment to realize this latest pain wasn't a back ache.

* * *

Although the rains had finally abated, the sky was still littered with dark clouds and the air was cool making it seem later than half past ten. With the shops and offices long closed and the rain having chased away any evening strollers, the street was quiet with only an occasional motor car passing by. Dr. Byrne, carrying his medical bag, made his way across the street. Dodging puddles he was oblivious to the four men hidden in two deep doorways watching him as he made his way down the street. Although there were no lights on in the furniture shop, pockets of the pavement in front were lit from light that shone through two of the windows from Tom and Sybil's upstairs flat and there was a faint glow from a street lamp further along the pavement from the shop.

The jingle of the overhead bell as Dr. Bryne opened the unlocked shop's front door seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet air. The furniture shop was full of shadows as neither Tom nor Fergus had bothered to light a lamp instead sitting in the dim light from the overhead bulb on the upstairs landing of Tom's flat that filtered through the open door separating the shop from the hallway and stairs leading to Tom's flat.

"Oh thank heavens you're back" a visibly anxious Tom greeted the doctor. With the top two buttons of shirt unbuttoned and his tie untied and hanging loosely down his shirt and his hair mussed as if he had been running his hand through it, Dr. Bryne thought Tom was the picture of every first time father anxiously awaiting the baby's arrival.

Putting his hand on the younger man's shoulder, he said "Sybil was quite fine when I was here earlier. These things take time son."

"But it's been hours!"

"And it may be hours more although based on my earlier visit I think it might be soon" the good doctor replied as he patted Tom's shoulder. "She's been in good hands with Mrs. Lowry and your mother. Now I'll just go up and see how things are progressing."

Before turning to go through the doorway that led to the stairs for the upstairs flat, the doctor noticed the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter. Nodding at the bottle he commented "I think that bottle's down another good two inches. You might want to slow down a bit."

"Could I come up and see her?" Tom pleaded.

Sighing deeply the doctor nodded "but only for a minute."

Although the visit with Sybil was much too short, Tom returned to the shop fifteen minutes later satisfied that all was well. "Doc thinks it won't be long now" Tom commented to Fergus.

"I told you-"

Whatever Fergus was going to say was lost in the sudden clatter of the shop's front door being violently opened and four men clad in khaki of the British Army bursting through the door. With two of them pointing rifles at Tom and Fergus, one of them demanded "Where's the doc?"

While a stunned Tom stared at the men, Fergus sitting in his chair calmly looked up at the soldiers. "The good doctor is upstairs attending this man's wife in childbirth."

Without saying anything more, three of the men turned their heads towards the inside doorway leading to the stairs while the fourth kept his rifle trained on an unruffled Fergus.

"You can't go up there" Tom had finally found his voice. "My wife is about to -"

"Are you sure about that" one of the soldiers sneered as he tapped Tom's shoulder with his rifle. "There was an attack this evening. Sure it's not some wounded rebel the doc is attending?"

Before Tom could reply, there was a loud piercing cry from upstairs. "Sybil" Tom cried out as he rushed towards the doorway but was blocked by the soldiers.

"Does sound like a woman" one of the soldiers said. He nodded at one of his comrades "Go upstairs and make sure." Pointing his rifle at Tom he continued "you stay here."

A minute later as another piercing cry shattered the quiet, the soldier rushed back down the stairs looking a bit paler. "It's as he said."

"Whatever made you think the good doctor was treating some rebel up here?" Fergus finally spoke.

"We had a -"

"Edmund it's not our place to discuss-" the apparent leader spoke but was, to his great surprise, interrupted by Fergus.

"Maybe instead of treating all of us as enemies you should treat us as decent people. Dr. Byrne's been treating folks around here for years. He's a good doctor. Never known him to-"

All eyes turned towards the doorway as they heard someone barreling down the stairs.

"Tommy … she's" Meg's eyes grew wide and her voice faltered as she took in the sight of the four British soldiers with two of them holding rifles trained on her.

"Oh God Meg" Tom cried in panic as he rushed to his cousin "Is Sybil … is … oh …" he stammered as he grabbed for her hand.

"Meg" he cried once again as his other hand touched Meg's cheek and turned her face away from the soldiers and towards him. "MEG … Sybil"

With Meg's focus back on Tom she finally blurted out "it's a girl Tommy! A beautiful girl!"

"A girl?" Tom looked thunderstruck. "I have a daughter."

"Yes!" Meg vigorously shook her head up and down. "A daughter!"

"Congratulations Tom!" Fergus called out as he stood and walked over to Tom and slapped him on the back.

"I …" Tom looked back and forth from the soldiers to the doorway. "I need to see-"

"Go on Tom" Fergus said. "Surely these men can't deny a man a look at his firstborn child." In response the lead soldier gave a slight nod of his head but Tom was already through the doorway.

"Well lads I think this calls for a toast" Fergus said as he picked up the whiskey bottle from the counter and poured a wee bit into one of the mugs sitting there. Walking behind the counter he found three more mugs which he set on the counter top and proceeded to pour a bit of whiskey in each of them.

"A toast to the newborn lass" he said as he handed each of the soldiers a mug although they looked a bit baffled and unsure whether they should partake of such an offer.

Sensing their hesitation, Fergus looked at the leader and said "surely you can join us in celebration of such a precious gift as a newborn. And you'll find this a finer whiskey than any English swill."

Although looking a bit uncomfortable, the soldier looked at his fellow men and then gave a slight nod of his head.

Fergus' voice took on an even deeper Irish lilt as he raised the bottle and with a nod of his head said "Such a wee little fit, sent from above. Someone so precious to cherish and love."

Draining their glass in one small gulp, each of the soldiers set their empty mugs on the counter. Although he continue to hold the bottle of whiskey Fergus made no further offer of drink to the men instead he moving towards the shop's front door which he promptly opened.

As the soldiers began to file out the door, Fergus stopped the one that seemed like the leader. "I can't imagine why you'd think the good doctor was up to no good. Not all of us Irish are republicans. I've never heard him talk politics but I know he has a daughter living in Manchester and he has English grandchildren."

It was only after he shut and locked the front door behind the soldiers that Fergus raised the whiskey bottle. "Sodding Brits" he said before taking another swig of whiskey.


	6. July 1920 Part 2

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews of the last chapter. This is a continuation of that chapter.**

Sybil leaned over and looked into the white wicker bassinet at the tiny figure swathed in a dark blue towel. Looking at the tiny hands balled into fists, her eyes closed tight, the mass of dark hair that contrasted to the soft pink skin, Sybil was still in awe that this angelic looking bundle was her daughter. Fighting her impulse to reach out her hand and gently stroke the that mass of dark hair, an act that might awaken the sleeping infant, Sybil contented herself with watching the gentle rise and fall of the blue towel as her daughter took soft breaths. Of course, Sybil mused, the little one wouldn't be quite so angelic looking in a little while when hunger caused her to wildly flail those arms and that soft pink skin became mottled as she frets and cries in an unexpected loudness that seems shocking for something so small.

Putting her feet up on the ottoman Sybil leaned back and sank into the overstuffed lounge chair, smiling as she thought how nice it was to finally be able to sit again in this most comfortable chair. As her belly had grown it had become harder and harder to get out of this chair without help and so she had taken to sitting on the sofa or one of the other chairs but none were as comfortable as this one.

After two days of sponge baths it had felt good to soak in the bath tub. The warm water had soothed her sore body and had almost lulled her into sleep as she leaned back against the tub's sloped end, her eyes closed and letting the warm water wash over her. Now freshly bathed, her skin smelling faintly of lilac, and clothed in a clean loose fitting cotton robe, she felt refreshed. She ran the brush through her damp hair still getting used to her short hair that now fell in waves to her chin. It had definitely been a wise move to cut her hair she idly thought.

The evening air that drifted into the sitting room through the open window was pleasantly cooler than the heat of the afternoon. From the kitchen came the faint murmurs of her mother-in-law and Meg as they bustled around the kitchen but it was the tantalizing aroma of roast chicken that brought a smile to Sybil's lips. Feeling content she closed her eyes and thought she shouldn't get too used to such pampering. She had almost drifted off to sleep when the gurgles of her daughter, lying in the bassinet beside lounge chair, had become soft cries.

"Oh little one hungry already" Sybil cooed as she bent over the bassinet and gently lifting her daughter before those soft cries turned in wails.

Tom silently stood in the small foyer of the flat marveling at the sight of his wife and daughter; it was a scene he didn't think he could ever tire of watching. He smiled as he watched Sybil, unaware of his presence, held a blue bundle close to her so that only the back of his daughter's head with its mop of dark hair was visible to him while Sybil's hand gently patted her back. Since that first day that he had seen Sybil, dressed in a pale blue suit that almost matched the color of her eyes, Tom thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. During those years at Downton he had seen her dressed in the finest of gowns and adorned with sparkling jewels yet dressed now in the simplest of attire, a shapeless cotton robe that fell just below her knees, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

She looked radiant in the early evening light that filtered into the sitting room casting a warm glow on Sybil and the baby and Sybil's dark wavy hair gleamed in the light. He hadn't been happy when she had cut her long tresses but he would admit now that the shorter hair suited the modern and independent woman she had become.

It was Meg coming from the kitchen, her hands filled with two bowls that she set on the dining table, that spotted him and her greeting to him caused Sybil to become aware of his presence.

Her face nuzzled close to the baby she cooed "Daddy's home." She looked up at Tom and smiled. "Perfect timing. This one's just finished her dinner and judging from that wonderful aroma it's time for ours."

"And how has my little one been today" Tom called out as he crossed the room and came to stand beside Sybil where he began stroking his daughter's head.

"Little one!" Meg shook her head. "She's three days old don't you think she should have a name by now or are you two planning on calling her little one until she's old enough to name herself?"

Tom couldn't help but laugh at his cousin's earnest question.

"Maybe that's something we can discuss at the table" Mrs. Branson said as she set the pan of roasted chicken on the table and beckoned them all to take their places. But conversation lulled while plates were filled and the first few bites were taken.

"This tastes so good" Sybil offered between bites. "I can't believe I'm absolutely famished."

"Well eat up dear" Mrs. Branson replied. "You need to keep up your strength. Takes a lot of energy nursing a baby."

Mrs. Branson looked at her granddaughter contentedly sitting in Sybil's lap. "Would be nice though if we could actually call her something besides the baby or little one."

Tom snickered and Sybil gave a small shrug while her lips curved into a slight smile at his mother's directness. In many ways Fionnoula Branson reminded Sybil of her granny although while her mother-in-law was just as formidable she had none of Violet Crawley's acidness.

"We were so sure the baby was gonna be a boy we didn't concentrate as hard on girl names" Tom piped up.

"What name had you picked out for a boy?" Meg asked.

"Kevin Aidan after my grandfathers" Tom responded and as he did so he caught the wistful gleam in his mother eyes at the mention of her father's name.

"I may never have meet Aidan Branson but I have such fond memories of Grandpa Fearghail" Tom looked first at Meg who had never met her grandfather Kevin Fearghail and then at his mother. "I've told Sybil about my summers at the farm. Stuffing our mouths with wild berries as soon as we picked them. Fishing in the brook where it seemed us boys would end up in the water."

"But I think what I loved most was sitting around the fire and Grandpa telling us the ancient legends. He was such a great storyteller and he made those legends come alive. Finn mac Cumahl. Angus Og. The children of Lir."

Finnoula Branson started to laugh. "I think the only time you children were quiet, mesmerized actually, was when he'd tell those stories."

"I wish I could have met him" Meg quietly stated. "Although I do remember Grandma." She quieted as if deep in thought and then said "Well you could name the baby after your grandmothers" causing Tom to shake his head as he laughed.

Still chuckling he said "We had talked about that but Sybil can't quite pronounce Granuaile."

"Well that one is a tough one" Mrs. Branson remarked.

"Pronounce it!" Sybil exclaimed. "I can't even remember how to spell it. But I loved the story behind the name. It's what I want this little one-"

At the mention of _little one_ Tom and his mother chuckled while Meg giggled. Sybil good humoredly responded with her own laugh before continuing. "I want this … **little one** " she boldly emphasized the words "to be a strong independent woman."

"Well Sybil what about your grandmothers' names" Meg stated then seeing how her remark caused Sybil to wince Meg quickly said "I'm sorry Sybil. I didn't mean to-".

"It's quite alright Meg." Sybil looked at Tom who leaned over to rub her shoulder. Taking a deep breath she continued. "Although I dare say both my grandmothers are quite strong women."

"I think your name is quite unusual Sybil. What is it from?" Meg asked in curiosity as she had never heard of the name before and also as a way to possibly change the direction of the conversation.

"It's from the ancient Greeks. Sybils were interpreters of the oracles and seers into the future."

"Golly! I thought my mother was a bit batty with the literary names."

Sybil raised her brow as if not quite understanding Meg to which Meg continued "My mother named us girls after characters from her favorite books … Meg, Emma, Jane, Alice ..." She stopped before naming all her sisters as if remembering something and then chuckling "Better than our neighbor who named hers after her favorite flowers. Rose … Poppy… Lily. Pity the poor one named Delphinium."

Delphinium did elicit groans and chuckles from those at the table.  
"Although we ended up calling her Delphy."

Looking down at her daughter Sybil forcefully stated "Well my daughter is Irish and I want her to have an Irish name."

"But one easy to spell as well as pronounce" Meg gleefully added. "Let me think … there's always Nora or -" she tilted her head as if deep in thought.

"Aideen" Mrs. Branson quietly said. Looking at Tom then Sybil she added "it's the feminine version of Aidan."

"Aideen" Sybil softly repeated the name as she looked down at the little bundle in her arms. "Aideen"

"It means little fire" Mrs. Branson stated.

Sybil broadly smiled "As a combination of her parents I think this one will certainly be a ball of fire."

"There's not really a feminine version of Kevin but Keela sounds a bit like Kevin." Mrs. Branson looked at her granddaughter "and it means beautiful which this little one certainly is."

"Keela" Sybil repeated the name. "Keela" "What do you think Tom?"

"I like it. I like Aideen" he replied.

"Well she needs a first and a middle name Tom."

Tom looked at Sybil grinning. "So have we settled then … Keela Aideen or Aideen Keela?"

* * *

It had taken Sybil four tries but she was sure this time she had done it right. "Da dah" she proudly proclaimed as she slid one hand under Keela's back while the other cradled her neck. But her joy was crushed as she lifted Keela up from the table and the nappy slid right off.

"You must think me so stupid" a frustrated Sybil said as she gently laid Keela back on the table. "How can this be so hard?"

Sybil looked at her daughter calmly lying on the table. "Meg's does this so easily."

"Meg's had plenty of experience dear. Three younger siblings plus all those nieces and nephews of hers."

Mrs. Branson patted Sybil's hand. "It just takes some practice."

"At this rate she'll be ready for toilet training before …" Sybil groaned. "Toilet training! How will I ever master that?"

Mrs. Branson chuckled. "Let's just master this dear before even thinking about that."

* * *

Sybil set the beef pie on the small wooden kitchen table. Although Meg had gone to spend the evening at her parents' house she had made the pie before she left. "Well it won't be just the two of us again for a long time Tom. Even if we don't have any other children I expect Keela will be with us for at least the next 18 years."

"No … no … I just mean since Keela's birth with both Meg and my mother here it's just seemed … well …" the man who wrote for a living seemed lost for words.

"Your mother has been wonderful these past two weeks. It's surprising how much work there is taking care of a newborn." Sybil's face reddened thinking of her ignorance. "I've never been around a newborn before. I can't imagine how these past two weeks would have been without your mother and Meg."

"You don't mind if Meg stays on?"

Sybil shook her head. "I'm enjoying her being here. Not just for all the work she does but she's actually quite pleasurable company. And I think it's good for her too. It's quite wonderful how much she enjoys working with Fergus in the shop."

Tom smiled. "I'm glad it's working out for you and for her." Tom knew that opportunities for girls like Meg were so limited.

His smile quickly left as he looked down at his empty plate and Sybil knew that look, knew that he had something to say to her, something that she might not want to hear. But she wasn't going to coax it out of him, she'd wait for him to speak.

"More tea?" she asked as she stood but Tom reached out and grabbed her hand and nodded for her to sit back down all the while his eyes remained on her.

Once Sybil was seated again he began "that night Keela was born … when I was downstairs with Fergus" she nodded at him. "Some British soldiers came barreling in the shop looking for Dr. Byrne."

Sybil gave a grunt. "I know. Meg told me later. She was so frightened."

"Why would they think Dr. Bryne would be here treating some rebel?"

Sybil, swallowing hard, looked away from Tom.

"How are you involved?"

"I'm a nurse with experience treating war injuries Tom. Would you rather I be working for the British soldiers?" She looked at him defiantly.

"I don't want you involved at all Sybil" His harshness surprised her.

"This fight isn't just yours Tom. Just like you I want freedom for Ireland."

Tom grabbed her hand. "Sybil can't you see how dangerous that was? If they' had caught you they wouldn't have treated you lightly just because you're English. In fact they might have been even harsher."

"Would you rather those young lads have died Tom? Because without me or Dr. Bryne some of them that could have been saved would have died."

Tom turned away from her, fiddled with his tea cup. "I thought we had no secrets Sybil."

"Can you say you have no secrets from me?"


	7. October 1920

**A/N: This has been a long time coming but I've written and discarded so many scenes for this chapter. I hope you like what I finally settled on. As always thanks for the reviews of the last chapter and I'd like to hear what you think about this one.**

 **October 1920**

"She seems a very happy and healthy baby" Dr. Bryne stated to a grateful Sybil as he finished examining Keela. Smiling as he lifted Keela up from his examining table he said to the infant "You're looking more and more like your beautiful mother."

"And how do you feel?" he asked as he handed the infant back to Sybil. Noting that Sybil didn't have that harried look so many of his other patients often had he added with a chuckle "You're looking quite well especially for a new mother. Eating well and sleeping-"

Sybil chuckled. "I'm eating quite well but as for sleeping …" she shrugged.

"She'll soon be sleeping through the night. Till then sleep when you can and get plenty of rest."

"I'm very lucky to have Meg" responded Sybil. "I'm embarrassed that she seems to know so much more about babies than I do."

"Yes well it's just a fact of life here that so many children help with their younger siblings."

"And Tom's been great too. I can't imagine my father ever changing a nappy!" Sybil turned her face away from Dr. Bryne and looked as if she suddenly found the eye chart on his office wall interesting.

Nervously, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't imagine my mother ever changed a nappy either" she murmured more to herself than the good doctor although he had heard her. Sybil had always been reticent about herself so he only knew bits and parts of her background but he knew she came from a wealthy family that did not accept her marriage to the Irishman Tom Branson.

Watching Sybil tug Keela a little tighter to her chest and tenderly kiss the top of her head Dr. Bryne thought that Keela Branson would get more motherly attention than the infant Sybil had had.

Thinking a change in direction of the conversation was needed Dr. Bryne asked "I'm always shorthanded here have you thought about coming back to work for me?"

"Keela's so young yet and I'm a bit afraid of catching some germs or disease and bringing it home to her."

Nodding as if understanding the new mother's fear, Dr. Byrne said "You're the best nurse I've ever had for treating wounds and setting bones and sewing up cuts."

Sybil flashed him one of those genuine smiles that he thought deepened her beauty. "That's so wonderful to hear Doc."

She looked down at the floor. "Tom confronted me about those Army men searching for you the night Keela was born." Lifting her face to look at him she continued. "I told him about … about helping with … you know." Holding Keela Sybil stood up and paced a few steps. "Although … I … I didn't really go into details."

She stopped pacing. "It's all so strange isn't it?" Sybil said. "I mean the Great War was two defined armies facing each other on a battlefield but here it's … it's … look at us most of the time we all go on about our daily life, quietly resisting, refusing to shop in certain places or refusing to help the police, or like the railway drivers refusing to transport British troops, all of us pretty much ignoring British authority while the Dáil carries on a sorta shadow government."

"And yet …" she looked away "there's this violence … tit for tat shootings and reprisals … and so many ordinary citizens caught in the middle."

"Tom's afraid for me and now with Keela" she looked down at the baby in her arms and once again tenderly kissed the top of her head. "But it's going to get worse isn't it I mean with these Black and Tans."

"Going by last month's attack in Balbriggan I'm afraid so" Dr. Bryne replied.

"But my daughter is Irish and I want her to grow up in a free Ireland. I won't keep it a secret from Tom but if you get in a bind here or if there's someone that needs looking after at the safe rooms at Fergus' I'll try to help."

* * *

Sitting under the giant oak whose spreading branches were still thick with mostly green leaves showing only the faintest hints of reds and golds, Sybil leaned back against the bench and tilted her face towards the sky. Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath the only sound she heard was the faint rustling of leaves and although the morning rain was long gone, replaced by glorious sunshine, the air still held that crisp smell of freshness that only comes after a hard rain. Once upon a time in her life, gardens brimming with an array of colorful plants and the air filled with the sweet scent of roses or lilacs, fields and meadows dotted with shrubbery and grazing sheep and woods thick with trees and teeming with deer and small game had been her world. Although she loved her city life, there were times when she longed to run barefoot on freshly mown grass or sit in the shade of an old oak tree, her back resting against its rough bark, and read a book.

"Sybil"

Sybil opened her eyes as Meg, sitting next to her on the park bench, asked "where have you drifted off to?"

It had been months since she and Tom had taken their Sunday walks which had once been their routine on lazy Sunday afternoons. Sometimes they'd walk along the river or other times they explored the many garden squares lined with fine Georgian mansions that reminded Sybil of London. Sometimes their walks were interrupted by drizzles or downpours and they'd pop into the closest pub and enjoy a pint. There was of course Trinity College with its stately buildings amid plenty of open spaces and she and Tom would talk about how their child might one day be a student there. But her favorite walks had been those in one of Dublin's fine parks, respites from the crowded streets with their gardens and fountains and where many a lazy afternoon the two had spent in the sunshine snuggled on a blanket talking about their hopes and plans for the future.

"Sybbbbilll"

Sybil opened her eyes as Meg, sitting next to her on the park bench, asked "where have you drifted off to?"

In response, Sybil shrugged her shoulders and emitted a light laugh. "It just seems so long since I've . . ." she stopped as she realized a young woman was standing in front of them.

Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, Sybil smiled at Tom and Meg's cousin Kate whom she had met two, maybe three times, at some family gatherings. The three cousins were related by way of their mothers who were sisters and Sybil thought Kate must take after her father's side of the family because she bore no resemblance to either Tom or Meg. Quite tall, she was slim with lively brown eyes and hair a rich brown that glinted highlights of red in the bright sunshine and across her cheeks were a scattering of freckles.

Now that Sybil was aware of her presence, Kate also smiled but her tone of voice dripped with annoyance. "Sorry I'm late but just as I was ready to leave the Major decided he needed me to iron a shirt which of course had a button missing so I had to…" She stopped and took a breath and then giving a dismissive wave of her arm continued in a much lighter tone. "I'm sure you don't want to hear about such things and anyway-"

"Anyway you're here now" a delighted Meg exclaimed.

"And we're glad you are" Sybil chimed in causing all three of them to laugh.

"So this is the newest Branson" Kate cooed as she bent to look at Keela happily lying in her pram, her body hidden underneath a fuzzy blue and white blanket while a soft white bonnet loosely covered her head leaving plenty of dark hair visible . "You look like your Ma" Kate continued as she stroked the side of Keela's head. "Yes, you're a beauty just like your Ma." Then looking up at Sybil, Kate said "I imagine Tom is just over the moon."

A beaming Sybil nodded her head. "He's so wonderful with her. He loves to-"

"Can we continue this conversation while we eat" Meg injected. "I'm hungry!"

Meg led the way as Sybil, pushing the bulky pram, walked along side Kate as they search for a dry spot to spread out their large woolen blanket. They opted for a spot in the open where they could bask in the warmth of the sunshine. It was unexpectedly warm for early October although the early morning rain had left just enough coolness that the three kept on their light wool jumpers. Even Keela, lying on her back on the blanket, her own fuzzy blanket lightly draped over her long cotton dress, seemed to relish the fresh air and sunshine and she happily flailed her arms and legs as her mother, Meg and Kate ate and talked and laughed as if they were school girls on holiday.

"I can't remember the last time I had a picnic" a contented Kate exclaimed as she finished the last of her ham and cheese tart. "What a wonderful way to spend my afternoon off."

At Kate's mention of her afternoon off Sybil slightly reddened, ashamed that she had never thought of how little time the Downton servants had off, or even worse, how much time the servants worked, until she had struck up her friendship with Tom.

"I don't think I could work for a British officer" Meg said as the conversation had turned to Kate's work.

Kate couldn't confide to her cousin the real reason for taking a job as a housemaid in the household of a British officer, couldn't say to her cousin _I'm not doing it because I want to but because it's for the cause_. _I have a role to play in the fight for our independence._

"Well a job is a job" Kate countered. "At least she's very nice. Much too nice for him I think. He treats her horribly and I think she's very lonely. I don't know why she married him." Then turning towards Sybil she said "She's English and a Lady like you. Actually now that I think about it Lady Victoria reminds me quite a bit of you Sybil."

"Me?" Sybil sounded a bit stunned.

Kate shook her head. "I don't mean the part about her marriage, I mean you'd never guess that she's an aristocrat. Treats us quite nice she does and she's very kind. She's curious about Ireland and I get the feeling that she thinks Ireland should be independent. I think she's probably about your age."

"Lady Victoria" Sybil repeated the name. She knew a Lady Victoria, in fact since childhood had been close friends with a Lady Victoria.

"Do you know her maiden name or where in England she's from?" Sybil asked but Kate shook her head no.

Leaning back on her elbows, Kate looked up at the sky which was still cloud free. "She's talked about how she misses horse riding and that she had three horses and they had even won some ribbons for whatever it is that horses do." The last, said with a dismissive wave of her hand, made Sybil silently chuckle. She had never been enamored with riding as Mary had been but she had enjoyed roaming around the estate and the sense of freedom she felt as the wind whipped her face as she pressed her horse to gallop ever faster.

"Apparently two of her brothers were killed in the war and she was very close to them. Even has a couple of photographs of them on her dresser but none" Kate seemed to smirk "of her husband. Not even any photographs of her wedding."

 _Brothers killed during the war. Could Kate's Lady Victoria be her childhood friend. Could this Lady Victoria actually be Victoria Bellasis_ wondered Sybil.

* * *

"It's just as beautiful as I remember it" Sybil delightedly commented as she and Tom stood next to the motor car looking out at the panoramic view from the top of Summit Hill. Just as she remembered off to their right the Summit's rugged heathland, thickly covered in gorse, cascaded far out into the sea with the final cliff capped with a squat sturdy looking lighthouse and beyond it the Irish Sea. Sybil tied her scarf a bit tighter around her head and pulled up the collar of her jacket to ward off the chill of the brisk wind which caused the gorse to ripple and the sea waves to crash fiercely against far off rocky cliffs sending sprays of water three or four feet into the air.

Looking in the other direction towards Howth's picturesque harbor the sea looked much calmer as the array of brightly painted fishing boats bobbed gently up and down inside the U shaped shelter formed by the two piers that jutted out into the sea. It seemed as if all the boats had sought the security of the harbor for no boats were visible in the sea beyond the lighthouse at the edge of the pier. In the distance the rocky outcropping called Ireland's Eye rose up from the sea with its gray rocks a sharp contrast to the dark blue of the cloudless sky and the even deeper darkness of the sea.

It was the first time Sybil and Tom had ventured to Howth since that wonderful trip back in April. Only this time was no overnight but just a leisurely Sunday afternoon jaunt away from the city. Standing behind Sybil, Tom wrapped his arms around her and snuggled his head against her neck. "Good thing we're not having a picnic today. It's much too cool and windy here today" he cooed into her ear before beginning to gently kiss her ear lobe, then her neck causing her scarf to come undone.

"Tom!" Sybil whined as the wind caught her scarf and it went tumbling across the gorse. "My scarf!" Jabbing her elbow into his chest she barked "Go get it."

He looked at the quickly moving scarf and then at his wife before wisely deciding to do as his wife bid and went galloping after the errant scarf which luckily for him finally got tangled in some gorse. Plucking the scarf, a very delicate matter in the prickly gorse, he held it aloft in victory as he turned towards Sybil; however, she was nowhere to be seen. Chugging back up the hill he heard the wails of his infant daughter before he saw their borrowed black motor car.

As he approached the motor car, the wails stopped and he found Sybil seated in the motor car with Keela cradled on her lap.

"Wet nappy or hunger?" Tom asked as he approached them. Her gaze still on Keela, each of her hands holding one of the infant's much smaller ones, Sybil replied "Neither." She cooed something Tom couldn't quite distinguish before looking up at him. "I think she was just feeling left out alone in her little box here in the motor car.

"I think fish and chips on the pier would be just fine Tom" Sybil said as Tom settled the motor car into a parking space in front of _The Sea House_ , the fine restaurant they had eaten at last April.

"Nonsense" he responded. "I think we can do better than sitting on a bench on the pier eating fish and chips. After all" he looked over at his wife, a sly grin on his face "now that I'm also writing for the _Manchester Guardian_ I do have a bit extra money."

Sybil smiled back him feeling so proud that his journalistic work was now recognized by an established British newspaper. Tom had submitted two articles to the _Guardian_ in the hopes of spreading the word of what was actually happening in Ireland to the larger British public. To their surprise, not only had the paper printed those articles but Tom was commissioned to submit future articles.

Just past two o'clock whatever luncheon crowd there had been was gone for the low ceilinged dining room was almost empty allowing Tom and Sybil to sit in a prime window booth looking out onto the harbor. After settling Keela down on the red cushioned bench, Sybil looked around the dining room with its beamed ceiling, whitewashed walls of crushed shells and stone, and a small fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace.

"Although it all looks a bit different in the brightness of the afternoon this too is just as lovely as I remember." Her voice was soft and Tom thought the dreamy look on her face reflected that romantic evening.

Sybil leaned across the table and whispered to Tom "so with the extra money does it mean I can order a seven course lunch?"

Tom rolled his eyes and teasingly replied "Can't quite shed that _Lady_ Sybil persona can you?"

After a lunch, not of seven courses, but grilled sea flounder garnished with grilled shrimp accompanied by roasted potatoes they strolled along the pier before heading to the nearby cove-like beach amazed at how much warmer it was here than up at Summit Head. The earlier threats of rain had disappeared, the winds had also vanished, and the afternoon was bright and sunny.

Holding Keela against his chest Tom and Sybil walked further up on the sandy beach to avoid any of the cold sea water of the waves breaking on shore. He watched as Sybil stopped to scoop up several seashells. "I'll put these in that jar with the other ones we got here. Every time I look at the jar I think of that lovely trip and now I'll also think of this wonderful day."

"Next year Sybil we'll come in the summer time and maybe this little one here" Tom nodded at Keela "will take her first steps in the sand and we'll sit at the water's edge and build a sand castle."

Sybil, her face beaming with hope and love, looped her arm around his. "That sounds just lovely Tom!"

* * *

Lying in bed, awake but his eyes still closed, Tom heard Sybil's soft murmurs as she soothed their crying daughter. In just a moment or two the bedroom had become quiet and he knew that Sybil had taken Keela into the sitting room. He didn't need to look at his bedside alarm clock for if Keela was settling into a new routine, and he hoped that she was for it meant that the infant was now sleeping through most of the night, he knew it was about half past four in the morning.

Still lying in bed, he stretched out his arms and legs and took a deep breath before rubbing his hands along the sides of his face. Finally sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair as he turned his face to look at the small bedside alarm clock. In the dusky bedroom light he was barely able to make out the time: 4:25. His first thought was how grateful he was for the six full hours of uninterrupted sleep then shaking his head and emitting a slight chuckle he thought how times had changed that he was actually happy to be awoken at such an early hour but such was the effect of having a newborn in the house.

The early start would give him time to work a couple of hours in the garage before heading to the newspaper office. Now with Keela he wanted to be home earlier in the evenings when she was at her most alertness. In his childhood he had been around babies and infants as long as he could remember but he thought they had been more of a pest or a chore than something to be excited about.

But now … he loved seeing the minute daily changes in his daughter. He loved that she'd turn her head to look at him when he called her name, that she smiled as he talked to her, her little fingers grasping his much large ones. He loved the way she gurgled when he blew bubbles on her at bath time and how she crinkled up her eyes and flailed her arms when her hair got wet. He love holding her close to his chest, gently rubbing her head or her back as he walked up and down the sitting room softly singing to her in Irish or telling her one of the great myths or legends. All the horrors he saw or wrote about during the day vanished when he walked through his front door and saw her.

It had become Sybil's favorite time of the day, this time when dawn was still an hour away and the city was mostly asleep. She loved the quietness, the stillness of the darken street below the sitting room's windows. She didn't turn on a lamp preferring the room's soft illumination from the gas lamp at the street corner. Sinking into the comfort of the lounge chair, holding Keela snuggly against her chest while the infant hungrily feeds, Sybil feels a contentment she never knew existed.

Although she had never voiced it, Sybil had been dismayed to learn she was pregnant. It was just too soon she thought. It had only been mere months into her marriage and she was still getting adjusted to living with Tom and then of course there was her new home, new country, new work. It had been so many changes in such a short time and she wanted more time to savor those changes and what she considered in new freedom and a baby just wasn't what she wanted.

Sybil tenderly ran her hand over the top Keela's head tamping down her dark silky hair. Now she couldn't imagine life without this precious little one.

The garage was only a few blocks away and, as he usually did, Tom chose to walk there via the alley that ran behind the furniture store. During the day the alley was busy with lorries making deliveries to the many small businesses along it and workmen taking quick breaks stood smoking or chatting in groups of two or three but this morning no one else seemed up and about. The alley wasn't totally cast in blackness as at this early hour the sky had retreated from inky black to a steely gray with scattered patches of much paler gray. Here and there, where the alley intersected with other alleyways or streets there were streaks of brighter light emanating from nearby unseen street gas lamps.

Tom pulled the collar of his jacket tighter about his neck thinking how much cooler the mornings were getting and he'd soon have to start wearing his winter coat. He didn't look forward to winter with its long dark nights and cold rains.

Happily fed, Keela lay contently on her mother's lap, smiling and waving her arms and feet as Sybil softly crooned some nonsense about a cow jumping over the moon. The quietness of outside her window was suddenly shattered by three sharp bangs that startled Sybil. It might have been the backfire of a motor car but Sybil had been in Dublin long enough that her first thought was of gunfire. She sat very still listening for any other sounds and soon heard muffled shouts and what she thought was the distant clop clop of running footsteps on the empty streets.

Tom was just crossing one of the streets that intersected the alley when off to his right came the undeniable sounds of gunfire followed sounds of shouting and running footsteps. The journalist in him was curious as to what was happening but he knew enough that in this darken alley he had to seek the safety of shelter so he quickened his pace.

The running footsteps came closer. The shouting was louder. Tom was almost to the next building.

The running footsteps hadn't come this way beneath her window and their sound became fainter. Sybil exhaled surprised that she had been holding her breath. Keela gurgled reminding her mother that she was still there. Whatever it was must be over Sybil thought and she smiled down at her daughter.

But that thought was quickly banished by the sound of two more gunshots.


	8. October 1920, part 2

**A/N: Thanks to all who took time to review the last chapter.**

 **October 1920 part 2**

The bright light shined directly in his face, he twisted his head to avoid the glare but a hand roughly grabbed his hair, causing him to wince, as the hand twisted his head so that he once again faced the unbearably bright light.

"I don't know what you're talking about." By this time Tom's voice was barely more than a whisper. His body sagged and if it wasn't for the ropes looped through anchors high up on the wall and then tied around his wrists that kept him upright he would have sunk to the floor. As it was his knees buckled causing the ropes to tighten and he screamed as a searing pain shot through his left shoulder as his arms were pulled up by the tightening of the ropes.

In the haze that was his mind he barely remembered what had happened. He had been on his way to the garage … the sound of gunfire … the sharp pain in his shoulders as if a thousand bees had stung him all at once … and then … he rapidly blinked his eyes as if that would bring back the memories.

"Where is …" the voices raged at him. How many times had they asked him the same questions over and over again?

Pain rippled throughout his body.

Despite the bright light glaring directly on his face it was becoming darker and darker.

He saw Sybil holding Keela against her chest. Sybil, his lovely beautiful Sybil. She looked up at him with that gleam in her eyes and that sweet smile. "Sybil love" He felt his lips moving but no sound came out. "Sybil" he tried again but there was now total quietness as it became darker and darker until even the image of her faded away.

* * *

The sky was still dark, not the inky black of a starless night but rather more of a steely gray that signaled dawn was slowly approaching. At ground level it was darker for no lights appeared from any of the buildings that lined the alleyway. At this early morning hour it was quiet for this was the time that revelers had long left the pubs and made their way home and workers snug in their beds snatched that last precious hour or two of sleep before waking to face another day of labor. Even the cool breeze that made Sybil pull her fluffy bathrobe tighter around her didn't cause anything to stir and disturb the silence. She sat on the hard wooden boards of the kitchen porch, her feet firmly planted on the stairs that led to the alleyway below. This was the way Tom had gone that morning she thought. It had almost been this same time of early morning when he walked down these stairs and out into the alleyway and then …

She moved her legs so that her knees were bent and wrapped her arms around them. Leaning over she rested her head against her knees and closed her eyes. _Where are you Tom_ she softly murmured as a stray tear dampened her cheek.

She had left the kitchen door ajar and she could now hear someone moving around the kitchen. Maybe if she stayed still and silent whoever it was wouldn't notice her sitting on the porch. _You have to be strong. You need to eat. Think of Keela. Keela needs you._ She was just so tired of everyone telling her what to do.

The whistling of the tea kettle shattered the quietness and she thought that maybe it was Cillian getting ready for work. He had stayed here so many nights since Tom disappeared as if Sybil and Keela and Meg needed protecting. He had also worked tirelessly in trying to find Tom and for that Sybil would also be grateful whatever the outcome should be. It hadn't been just Cillian, all of Tom's family and Fergus and the guys who worked in the shop and Tom's colleagues on the paper and Sybil suspected, those men at the garage and in that secretive group that both Cillian and Fergus were part of, had tried finding out what had happened to Tom. Even in her fog of those earliest days she had recognized one of the men and lads who came to talk to Fergus. The man had taken away the young boy she had nursed in one of those secret rooms in the warehouse and the lad was the young boy's brother. As they were leaving she had collected her wits enough to ask about the young boy, her patient, and the lad had smiled at her as he said his brother had recovered thanks to her.

Yet when someone walked out onto the porch and then sat beside her Sybil knew from the rustle of her skirt that it was her mother-in-law.

To Sybil's surprise Finnoula Branson didn't say a word, instead sitting down next to her, Finnoula silently offered Sybil a mug of sweet steaming tea which Sybil took. The moments ticked by but neither woman said a word and Mrs. Branson took this time to look closely at her daughter-in-law. Although it was too dark here on the porch too see she knew that Sybil's pain was on etched on her face with the deep dark circles under her eyes, the lifelessness in her normally bright blue eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. It had been a long time since Finnoula had doubted the girl's love for her son but watching Sybil these past weeks Finnoula felt guilty for ever having had such thoughts.

"I've always loved this time of day just before dawn. I've always thought it was a wonderful time to think" Sybil finally broke the silence between them and although her voice was low it was strong. Mrs. Branson silently wrapped her hand around one of Sybil's as she waited for Sybil to continue.

"When I was a little girl I'd sometimes sneak out to watch the sunrise. I loved the stillness of that time of day and as the sun began to rise it seemed like the world came alive. I know many people think sunset is beautiful but I've always preferred sunrise."

Sybil paused as she took a deep breath. "I love sunrise because it is the beginning of something rather than the end."

Sybil squeezed her mother-in-law's hand. "I believe one of these sunrises will bring the day when we find Tom."

* * *

"It can't hurt to try one more time" Cillian was defiant. "Maybe we'll find someone who didn't talk to us before or someone who now remembers something."

"I guess anything is better than just sitting around here waiting for Tom to walk back in that door on his own" replied Brendan the oldest of Tom's brothers. Some time ago Brendan had surmised that Cillian was involved in clandestine activities in the fight for Irish freedom and now, he wondered if Tom was also involved. He knew of Tom's writings but had his younger brother taken a more active role? Had he become involved with the rebels despite having an English wife? A wife that wasn't only English but the daughter of an Earl. Brendan shook his head.

* * *

The sheetless mattress was stained with the blood and urine of those who had lain here before him, but Tom was oblivious to this. Without the benefit of any anesthesia the bullet had been crudely removed from his shoulder. It had been removed more to cover the fact it was a British made bullet that had penetrated Tom's skin than to offer any relief.

"When can we move him?" the guard standing beside Tom's bed asked.

"He's not too stable, been drifting in and out of conscious" replied the doctor. "Unless you want him to die before you can question him again I'd leave him here another day or two."

Although he was English, the doctor wasn't heartless and in fact as time had passed he came to feel sympathy for many of the men he had treated. At first he thought of those he treated as enemy combatants but he'd come to realize that not all of those brought here had actually been engaged in fighting against England. Some had been just been drunk and in their drunken state had run their mouths off at an inopportune time, some were unfortunate bystanders caught in the crosshairs and others were cases of mistaken identity. He looked down at the man in the bed and wondered what was his story.

* * *

Standing in the arched opening between the kitchen and the large dining/sitting room Meg wiped away a tear as she watched Sybil quietly rocking back and forth in the wooden rocker as she softly crooned Keela to sleep. Closing her eyes Meg took a deep breath to steady herself.

Meg set the cup of steaming tea on the small table beside Sybil who gave her the feeblest of smiles before looking down and gently kissing the top of Keela's head.

"Is she-" Sybil's voice was low.

Meg nodded. "Should I put her in her cradle?"

Sybil wrapped her arms around her small daughter as if she were afraid to let her go.

Standing up Meg reached out her arms to take the sleeping infant. Sybil looked from her daughter to Meg and then back at Keela before reluctantly handing the baby to Meg.

Meg returned to the sitting room with a tray holding another cup of tea, a plate with slices of freshly baked barmbrack bread and a small pot of butter. "So that is what smells so good" Sybil said as she reached for a slice of the warm sweet bread filled with raisins. Meg was heartened to see Sybil's appetite finally returning.

As Sybil took a few bites of the bread, Meg cast her eyes down towards her lap as she nervously ran her thumbs back and forth across the backs of her fingers. Sybil looked at her curiously for it was so out of character for Meg.

Unlike herself who often held back her feelings, years of that aristocratic training was hard to shed, Meg was quite direct and outspoken.

Sybil set her plate back on the table. "Meg whatever-"

"Oh Sybil I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it" a distraught Meg blurted out.

Sybil curiosity only deepened for she had no idea what Meg was referring to. "Didn't mean what?"

"I dddin't … didn't …" a teary Meg sniffled. "about … hating the English."

"Oh Meg" Sybil sat on the edge of her chair and leaned over to grab Meg's hands.

Meg's teary eyes looked directly at Sybil. "It's just that when Cillian found that Tom had been shot and taken away by those awful …. awful Black and Tans I … I" she burst into tears. "I didn't mean you. I don't hate you" Meg managed to say between sobs.

"Meg I know my too many of countrymen aren't at their best here in Ireland and that it's been this way for a long long time. I'm lucky that Tom saw beyond that and gave me a chance."

"Oh Sybil I just couldn't bare it if you thought-"

Sybil moved over to the cushioned sofa and sat next to Meg. "Meg you've been tremendous these past weeks." Sybil began stroking Meg's hair. "You've made sure there's food for everyone that's come here and you've cleaned the house and done the laundry and took care of Keela when I was too numb to do so. I couldn't have gotten through these days without you."

Sybil handed Meg her handkerchief and the younger girl began wiping away her tears.

"Now we have to focus on finding exactly where Tom is and getting him back and I think you can help me in that."

"Me? But … how?"

"I need to contact your cousin Kate."

* * *

He stood alone in the near darkness, already shivering although his body was still dry. He wasn't sure how long he had stood there waiting but then that was part of the torment wasn't it. Then just as you thought that maybe this time …

Tom woke. His heart was racing so fast that he could feel each heartbeat. His hand stroked his damp forehead but the wetness wasn't from buckets of icy water poured on him but from his own sweat. Laying still it took him a moment to realize that this time it had only been a dream.


	9. November 1920

**November 1920**

Stepping into the lobby of the Shelbourne Hotel was like stepping into another world. From the sparkling marble floor to the gilt decorated ceiling the room spoke of an elegance and opulence that was out of the reach of ordinary Dubliners, indeed the ordinary Dubliner was discouraged if not outright banned from setting foot in the place unless wearing a bellboy or maid's uniform. Light shimmered from the oversized crystal chandeliers, the air was lightly scented from the huge flower arrangement positioned on the huge antique table under an oversized gilt frame arched mirror, and through arched doorways framed by gilt capped columns deep luxurious sofas and chairs beckoned one to come and sit whether engaging in intimate conversations or enjoying the view through the tall windows of St. Stephens Green.

Once she would have been at home in a place like this but Sybil was no longer that girl who had grown up enveloped in a world of marble, hand-cut crystal, silks and satins. She felt like an interloper standing in this grand entranceway, her hand rubbing the softness of her new deep crimson woolen coat. It wouldn't do appearing here in the second hand coat she had worn last winter so she had spent money, money gleaned earlier from selling one of her fine necklaces, on a new coat and matching cloche hat. Just like that she had been transformed from Mrs. Tom Branson into _Lady Sybil, daughter of the Earl of Grantham._

She had smiled at the bellman telling him she was meeting someone and walked towards one of the arched doorways leading into the lounge. Afraid that if she took a seat in one of the plush sofas or chairs her quarry wouldn't see her she decided to stand just inside the archway ready to step back into the lobby as soon as her quarry entered the hotel. Luckily she had barely turned around to face the lobby when the glass and wooden hotel door opened and, accompanied by a stout and dour looking older woman, the former Lady Victoria Bellasis walked into the grand lobby of the Shelbourne Hotel.

Waiting until Victoria was only feet away from her, Sybil stepped out into the foyer.

"Sybil?" Victoria, rather bewildered at seeing her childhood friend, spoke quietly. But as Sybil took another step forward Victoria's face broke out into a beaming smile and she called more loudly "Sybil! Sybil Crawley!"

Hoping to look as surprised as Victoria had been Sybil had barely responded "Torie!" when Victoria bounded across the remaining feet of the grand foyer and enveloped Sybil in a hug. "What a delight to see you!"

The two women continued hugging and laughing as they simultaneously talked. "I knew that you were living in Ireland but I had no idea how to contact you" "Whatever are you doing here?" "You're a sight for sore eyes." "It's so grand to see someone from home."

"Lady Victoria!" the older women who had accompanied Victoria tugged at her arm. "I'm afraid we'll be late."

"Oh Mrs. Bowden this is an old friend of mine from Yorkshire Lady Sybil Crawley" Victoria responded. Then looking at Sybil said rather sheepishly "I'm afraid I don't know your married name."

"Your ladyship" Mrs. Bowden nodded at Sybil taking in the fine cut of Sybil's coat and stylish hat. Of course Lady Victoria's friend would be another _Lady_ she thought with just a bit of resentment. "I think the others are waiting Lady Victoria."

Victoria turned towards Sybil. "Oh Sybil are you busy? I mean do you have time to talk?"

"I'd like nothing better" Sybil responded.

"Lady Victoria I imagine the table is already set for just the six of us" Mrs. Bowden injected. "But I guess I could see if the waiter could squeeze in another."

Victoria looked from Mrs. Bowden to Sybil and then back at Mrs. Bowen. "You go on in. Lady Sybil and I will find a quiet space for the two of us to talk."

"But" Mrs. Bowden looked rather unsure of herself. "Really dear do you think it's safe for the two of you-"

"Mrs. Bowden" Victoria cut in. "I believe Lady Sybil has been living here in Dublin for some time so I'm sure she's quite familiar with the city and you needn't worry. Now please go see the others and give them my regrets."

Waiting until the older woman was almost out of sight, Victoria wrapped her arm around Sybil's and whispered "she's a frightful bore. Reminds me of some of my governesses with her strict timetables and constant harping on etiquette."

"Then let's go someplace where she can't find us" Sybil responded and for the first time Victoria's face clouded over and she looked a bit hesitant. "Torie there's a perfectly nice tea room around the corner and I assure you we'll be quite safe."

* * *

Settled into a booth, their orders placed, Torie looked around the room. "Makes me think of the tea rooms l'd see in York and always wanted to try but of course Mama would only consent to places with a doorman and linen tablecloths and fresh cut flowers on the table." She looked at Sybil and smiled. "I thought now living in a city I'd be able to visit such places and go to the theatre and stroll around the parks but my husband thinks Dublin isn't safe for us British. The only places I go to are the dressmaker's, the millinery, and the Shelbourne so I haven't really seen much of Dublin."

Torie took a sip of her tea. "I guess life is quite different for you here … I mean married to an Irishman."

"It hasn't always been easy but I do feel safe with Tom. We live near Trinity College and that area is more accepting of people like me. I've learned what shops to patronize and which to avoid when I'm on my own. What's hurt most is that no hospital would hire me because I'm English." Sybil gave a slight smile and a shrug of her shoulders before taking a sip of her tea. "I live in a whole different world far away from that at the Shelbourne so it was rather strange being there today."

Torie gave one of her beaming smiles as she reached across the table to pat Sybil's hand. "Well I'm certainly glad you ventured there today of all days!"

Conversation was halted as the black clad waitress set two steaming chicken pot pies on the table. Torie took a deep breath as if trying to capture the fragrant aroma. "I don't think I've had chicken pot pie since I left the nursery!" Picking up her fork she continued "it was always one of my favorites."

Torie had taken several bites, proclaiming the pie was delicious, before she spoke again. Her voice was soft and tinged with an unexpected seriousness. "Sybil I'm sorry I wasn't better at keeping in touch but losing first Tom and then Reggie just crushed me."

Sybil patted Torie's hand. "I can't imagine how hard it was losing two brothers. I have so many fond memories of them especially Tom."

"We did have some wonderful times didn't we? Remember those scavenger hunts?"

Sybil laughed. "I especially remember the one where you and I got locked in the attic at your house and it took hours for someone to find us and everyone thought we'd be so scared in that dark and dusty place and instead we had fallen asleep."

"Or the time Reggie was so sure he'd win because we wouldn't touch frogs or worms." Torie laughed. "And then you let the frog loose in the house and my grandmother fainted when it landed on her lap."

"Which I believe banned me from your house for weeks" Sybil laughingly added.

"Remember how upset Tom was when you climbed higher up that old tree than him and then you got too scared to climb down and it took my father and the gardeners hours to figure out how to get you down."

"Which I believe earned me another few weeks of banishment!"

And so it went as they ate their meal, the conversation never waned between the two old friends as they talked of old times, of shared memories and childhood adventures. Eventually the conversation turned to how both had come to be in Ireland. However, Sybil omitted Tom's current situation for that would wait until Sybil felt it was just the right moment but surprisingly it was Torie who first broached the subject.

Torie would have said that Sybil looked as elegant and stylish as ever at the Shelbourne in her crimson wool coat and matching cloche hat. She thought it might have been a bit surprising that Sybil's hair fell in soft chin-length waves but then again Sybil always had been willing to be at the forefront of fashion. But as they sat down at a table in the tea room, Torie had been quite surprised by the outdated dress Sybil wore. Although the dress had been shortened it was obviously from a time before the war and hung on her as if she had borrowed it from someone a bit larger.

"Sybil this has been wonderful seeing you and catching up but I get the feeling that there is something you're not telling me."

Sybil looked around the small tea room noticing it was now empty except for an older woman with a young boy and her and Torie. "I do want to talk to you about something but it would be best to find somewhere a bit more private maybe a bench somewhere in the park if it's not too cold or my flat isn't too far and you could meet my daughter."

* * *

Tom pulled the blanket tighter around him as he sat down on the bed. The bare mattress was a dingy gray too thin and lumpy to give much comfort but it was better than sitting on the hard cold stone floor. Other than twelve narrow metal framed beds that were lined up in two rows of six beds opposite each other with an aisle maybe three or four separating the two rows of beds the room was barren. Even though there was space enough at the end of the room for four more beds, two on each side, the area was kept empty except for the metal bucket that was used for the men to relieve themselves. Since the bucket was only emptied once a day there was a constant unpleasant odor although the odor also came from the men confined here for they were allowed to bathe, if one could call standing under a running hose of cold water without soap once every three or four days a bath.

The room was dim for the only windows were long slits high up on the wall almost to the ceiling which didn't allow anyone to see out. Nor did they allow sunlight to penetrate into the room and therefore it was almost always a dusky sort of light in the room even during the time Tom surmised was day. With the weather in Dublin at this time of year, often days of rain, it was sometimes hard to determine day from night. There were of course no lamps or even candles to lighten the room.

He wasn't sure how long he had been confined to this barren room nor for that matter did he know how long he had been at this place. At times he could recall he had been in another room, something more like a hospital ward, but his memory was rather vague on that. In fact his memory was rather vague on this whole situation and how he had come to be here. Wherever and whatever _here_ was.

* * *

"I don't think my husband could do much even if he was willing to help" Torie said immediately crushing Sybil's hopes. The look of utter defeat on Sybil's face tore into Torie's heart and she reached out and took hold of Sybil's hands. "But I think there is someone who most certainly can help."

* * *

Torie reached for the crystal decanter and poured herself a glass of whiskey. Still standing at the sideboard she downed the smoky liquid in one gulp. Setting the glass back on the sideboard she laughed as her mother's voice rang in her head. _Really Victoria a lady doesn't drink such things._ Her hand was on the decanter ready to pour another glass when she heard the front door open. _Oh Mama there are so many things a lady doesn't do._

Major James Sutter cut an impressive figure with his thick mane of dark curly hair and lean muscular frame. Just shy of six feet he always stood ramrod straight making him seem just a bit taller. His eyes were as dark as his hair and usually held no warmth although he could be quite charming when he wanted and just as often he could be quite cruel.

Torie had just sat down on one of the stiff Victorian sofas when her husband entered the sitting room.

Ignoring his wife, James walked directly to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. Unlike Torie who had devoured her drink in one gulp, James took a sip and then let the smoky peatness linger in his mouth before swallowing. Holding the glass in his hand he finally turned to face his wife. "And how was your day today?"

 _Here it comes_ thought Victoria (for with her husband it was always Victoria and never ever Torie). _He'll have already heard from Major Bowden about Sybil so there's no point in being evasive._

"Actually it was wonderful" she gushed in reply. "Extraordinary actually. I met an old friend at the Shelbourne and it was just wonderful to talk to her."

"Someone you abandoned your lunch friends for?"

"Oh really James. I have lunch almost every week with those women and they more your colleagues' wives than my friends. I've known Sybil all my life, our families were quite close, and I haven't seen her in ages."

"Oh yes I believe it was a Lady Sybil."

She nodded. "Lady Sybil Crawley" and then knowing he'd be impressed she added "her father's the Earl of Grantham."

"So what is this Lady Sybil doing in Dublin?"

"She lives here."

"And you're just now meeting her?"

Victoria shook her head. "I don't know what you're getting at. Why should I have met her before now? She's not involved with the British military so we hardly run in the same social circle."

"Well it is quite extraordinary that this Lady Sybil just happened to be at the Shelbourne on a day you're there for lunch."

Victoria, although in light of what Sybil had asked her to do had also thought the same thing but she'd never give such satisfaction to her husband, in a look she had perfected knitted her brows in confusion, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I just meant how fortuitous she was there at the same time as one of your rare outings there."

Ignoring any implications of that statement, Victoria instead gave a beaming smile and enthusiastically said. "It was wasn't it!"

"So what is Lady Sybil doing in Dublin besides hanging out in the lobby of the Shelbourne?"

"She was hardly _hanging out_ at the Shelbourne. I believe she was checking out the possibility of accommodations for her grandmother during the Christmas season." Victoria stifled a giggle thinking how easy it had become for her to lie.

"Isn't that a bit unusual for her grandmother to come here rather than Lady Sybil going home for Christmas?"

Victoria took a deep breath. "Her grandmother is American" Then knowing how her husband was impressed with wealth, after all that was why he had married her, she added "A very rich American."

She stood up and walked to the sideboard and poured herself a small glass of sherry, not that she wanted the drink but it gave her something to do. "Really James I don't know why you're harping on this. It will be nice for me to have a true friend here."

"Don't you consider the women you were supposed to lunch with friends?"

"It's different with Sybil. I've known her all my life."

"And she's not some military wife but someone from your social circle."

 _A yes thought Victoria that's the real rub isn't it. You're not from my social circle either and never will be._

Victoria glared at her husband but before she could respond Kate, dressed in her maid's uniform, appeared at doorway. "Excuse me mylady dinner is ready."

Kate stepped aside as the Major and Lady brushed past her and crossed the hallway to the dining room. She was dying to know about the meeting between Sybil and Lady Victoria and had stood quietly outside the sitting room to overhear a bit of the conversation between the Major and his wife. From what she had heard she wasn't sure what had happened between the two women and for that she'd have to ask Sybil. When she had met with Sybil to set up the "chance" meeting with Victoria Kate had asked Sybil not to reveal their relationship for doing so might endanger Kate.

For Victoria dinner had almost been torture with her husband's constant questioning and she was glad when he retired to his office and she could flee to her small sitting room. It was a small spare room at the back of the house that might once had been an anteroom but unlike the rest of the house which had been decorated by some long ago officer's wife in the dark, formal, heavy, ornateness of the Victorian age she had been able to soften it a bit. Gone were the deep red velvet drapes with their fringe tassels that blocked any view of the garden outside and the dark gold and red wallpaper had been scrapped off three of the walls and replaced with light yellow paint. She had purchased a comfortable lounge chair in a soft creamy yellow pattern and had positioned it near the window where she'd often sit on those rare glorious sunny days and admire the back garden. The garden of course wasn't nearly as grand as back home but in the spring and summer there was a lovely mix of colorful blooms and in the fall the two large trees were drenched in reds and golds.

The side table that took up almost all of one wall was covered with an array of framed photographs from Victoria's past and tonight she was drawn to one particular photograph. She lifted the photograph and smiling ran her finger across it. It had been taken on one of those delightful summer days in her carefree youth. Standing next to her brother Reggie she held a croquet mallet in her hands and was carefully studying the path to the wicket while in the background her brother Tom stood grinning and just beyond him was Sybil waving her hands.

A tear fell down her cheek as she studied the photograph. Then they were young and healthy and wealthy and looked so happy with their carefree summers and supposed glittering futures. But that had been before the war had changed everything. Her brothers were now buried in the family plot of her family's ancient estate. In her grief she had been consoled by the dashing James who had served with Reggie and purported to have been his closest friend and had held his hand on the battlefield as he died. Sybil had found love with the family chauffeur and had given up everything to be with him.

She had been fooled by James but no longer. She once might have been the empty airhead he thought she was but not now although she still often played that role. Now she had an inkling of what he really was and what he was doing here in Ireland and she didn't like it at all. It had embarrassed her to tell Sybil that James wouldn't be able to help her although that wasn't really true. He would help for a price, a price much greater and steeper than she was willing for Sybil to pay.

Tomorrow she'd take Sybil to someone else, someone more honorable. James always railed against the "old-boy" network and tomorrow she'd see if that "old-boy" network really worked.


	10. November 1920, part two

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews of the last chapter.**

 **November 1920, part two**

"I'm sure if you have anything planned you could still do it from the Bowens house" James peered over his tea cup at his wife.

"Whatever could I possibly have planned? Other than the weekly lunch at the Shelbourne and the occasional shopping outing what do I ever do?" Victoria countered.

Sitting his teacup down, James picked up a piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade. "I thought maybe you'd invite your friend Lady Sybil over for lunch or maybe tea."

"That does sound rather nice."

"I'm sure Mrs. Bowen would be delighted to host both of you for lunch."

And report back to you everything we said thought Victoria. She dropped her toast onto her plate. "I'm sure she would. But Sybil and I have so much to catch up on and it wouldn't be fair to Mrs. Bowen to have to listen to us prattle on about things and people she doesn't know." Despite what she said Victoria knew Mrs. Bowen would relish hearing such stories and couldn't wait to gossip about such matters.

Victoria picked up her toast. "Besides I am not going to stay at the Bowdens."

"Really Victoria I'd feel much better if you'd stay with the Bowens while I'm gone. You really shouldn't be here alone."

Raging inside she was pleased with herself that she was able to gently set the cup down on the table rather than shattering it against the saucer. She knew her husband wasn't as concerned about her safety as he was about having someone monitoring her movements. "But I'm not here alone James" she managed to say.

"In fact" she looked steely eyed at her husband "I'm never alone in this house."

"I wasn't referring to the servants Victoria" James snapped.

"Why? Do you not consider them people?"

James sighed in irritation. "If you won't stay with the Bowdens at least let my secretary stay here with you."

The suggestion that she stay with the domineering and nosy Eliza Bowden had been bad enough but the thought of spending time with Eleanor Whitten, she of barely hidden hostility towards her, was simply out of the question. Once again hiding the rage she felt, Victoria took her napkin off her lap, daintily wiped her around her mouth, then rose from her chair. "I stopped needing a nanny years ago."

James reached out and caught hold of Victoria's arm as she passed him on her way out of the breakfast room. "While I'm away I need to fully concentrate on my work and I can't do that if I'm worrying about your safety."

Victoria looked into the pitch blackness of her husband's eyes. How had she ever seen charm in those cold and calculating eyes? "You've been away before James and I don't recall you having such qualms about my being here alone."

"The city's becoming more dangerous with more and more ordinary citizens seemingly backing dissent and things-"

"Haven't you thought that maybe those auxiliaries and Black and Tans have contributed to that?" Victoria shot back at him. "Who's shooting men on their way home from work or breaking into people's homes shattering-"

He gave her arm a tight squeeze causing her to wince. "Who have you been talking to about such things?"

She tried pulling her arm away from his grip but he only squeezed harder as he raised his other arm. "I don't have to talk to anybody I can read the newspapers James."

Victoria bracing herself for a slap on her shoulder or possibly the side of her head tried turning her body away from him. But a soft Irish voice asking "Do you need more tea or toast?" prevented whatever action James might have taken as both turned their heads to look at Kate, holding a tea pot, standing in doorway.

James quickly dropped Victoria's arm. "I think we're both finished."

"Maam?" Kate looked at Victoria who smiled back at her. "No thank you Kate, I'm sure Madame Claudette will insist I have a cup or two with her."

"Madame Claudette?" James looked at his wife.

"I have some dress fittings there this morning."

* * *

At half past ten in the morning the steady rain had ended but the sky remained gray threatening more rain. Sitting in the back of the motor car, James had insisted on driving her to Madame Claudette's, Victoria intently watched the passing scenes from her window. Men and women hurried along the still wet pavements doing their best to avoid deeper puddles. What little of Dublin Victoria had seen of Dublin reminded her of London with its grand buildings of stone and granite, a river running through the midst of it, fine squares with elegant Georgian townhouses surrounding leafy inner parks. Of course if she had ventured north of the River Liffey she would have seen remnants of the destruction that had taken place during the Easter rising of 1916 when the British sent gunboats up the river to shell the rebels taking shelter in the General Post Office. The shelling and resulting fires had destroyed that grand building leaving only the granite façade and portico still standing as well as leaving much of Sackville Street, the main thoroughfare of the city, in ruins.

But as her husband constantly reminded her, wives of British officers didn't venture far and Victoria's Dublin was a compact area south of the River Liffey. Dublin Castle, home of the British government, was within this area as well as Trinity College and of course The Shelbourne Hotel which bordered the lovely St. Stephens Green. Also within this area were Dublin's most exclusive neighborhoods including Fitzwilliam Square and Merrion Square where lovely Georgian townhouses bordered green leafy parks. Although on this November day as the motor car passed Merrion Square Victoria noted the park was neither leafy green nor even the colorful display of only days ago when the trees had been blanketed in vivid reds, oranges and yellows. What few leaves remained were dull rust or brown which didn't brighten the gray day.

On a side street just past Merrion Square was the dress shop of Madame Claudette DuBois. Housed in a red brick building that resembled the townhouses of Merrion Square, it would be easy to mistake the building as a home rather than a flourishing business. Only the brass plaque with raised letters stating _Madame Claudette's Couture_ beside the black front door gave any indication this was a business.

"You're so busy James you just probably forgot something so trifling as my dress fittings" Victoria had responded to her husband when he again noted that he couldn't recall her mentioning before this morning today's appointments with Madame Claudette. For one panic stricken moment she feared he would come inside the shop with her so it was with great relief that he stayed beside the open car door and watched her walk across the pavement and up the five steps to the shop's front door.

Much to her relief James had remained standing beside the motor car watching through the tall wide windows that gave an excellent view into the room that looked much like a sitting or drawing room that a shop. Only the end wall with it racks and hooks that displayed hats and purses gave any indication of the business here and James watched as Victoria fingered several of the hats. Luckily she only waited a minute or so before Madame Claudette entered the room and welcomed her in that continental way with a kiss on each cheek.

"Have I forgotten some appointment?" Claudette asked in French as she hugged Victoria and the younger woman answered in her quite passable French. "I'm afraid I need your help."

It would be easy to mistake Claudette DuBois as a Parisian for she certainly had the French accent and mannerisms born from years of living in Paris. Yet Claudette was not French and the only person in Dublin who knew she was actually Bridget Anne McCowen from Clane, County Kildare was Victoria. How shocked both women had been meeting again the first time Victoria had patronized _Madame Claudette's Couture_.

" _Is this really the little girl who came with her uncle to that shop in London?" Claudette had said in French._

" _It's so good to see you. I've always wondered how you fared in Paris after the war started" Victoria responded in French._

" _Ah" Claudette said as she shrugged her shoulders. "I think there is much to tell for both of us."_

* * *

"Are you sure of this address?" a visibly confused Cillian asked Sybil.

Looking at the unmarked door Sybil seemed just as confused. "It does seem like an unusual place to meet but here's the note Victoria sent marking the entrance" she said as she handed Cillian the note. It had been quite astonishing when Kate had shown up at Sybil's flat with the sealed note. _I was just as stunned as you when she handed me a sealed envelope, asked if I thought I could find that address, and asked me to hand deliver it to you Kate had told a startled Sybil._

Cillian too thought it was highly unusual to meet Sybil's friend here but his reason was far different than Sybil's for Cillian was quite familiar with this place and its owner.

* * *

While the ground floor housed Claudette's business her private quarters were on the floors above. There was an entrance to Claudette's private quarters through a locked door (for which Claudette wore the only key pinned to the pocket of her dress or on a chain around her neck depending on her outfit) in the workshop or through a door from the outside back alley which is where Sybil and Cillian had entered. Both doors opened into an eight square foot black and white tiled foyer with steps leading up to Claudette's living quarters.

The stairway ended in another black and white tiled foyer only this one was at least twice as large as the downstairs entrance. Off the foyer was a sitting room that could have been in Downton. With its huge glass chandelier, marble fireplace, silk flocked wallpaper, and gilded wainscoting and moldings, it was an elegant room yet the comfortable brocade sofa and chairs gave it a homey feel.

A fire had been lit in the marble fireplace giving the room warmth and Sybil stood in front of it rubbing her hands but it was an act more of nervousness than warding off the chill of that gray November morning. She had been through so many emotions since she had received Victoria's note and had had a sleepless night. But the hope she felt this morning waned as she couldn't imagine that whoever lived in this elegant place would help her find Tom.

A tall slim woman, looking as elegant as the room, came in carrying a silver tea tray which she set on the low table in front of the sofa. "Please make yourself at home" she said in a pleasant voice with a heavy French accent. As if Sybil wasn't baffled enough, there was a quick but unmistakable look, Sybil wasn't quite sure how to decipher it, that passed between the woman and Cillian but neither said anything and the woman quietly left the room.

Cillian poured a cup of tea and then offered it to Sybil. "Please Sybil try and drink this" but she turned away and faced the fire. His heart ached seeing the pain clearly etch on her face. He wasn't a praying man having long ago lost his faith in justice but this morning he had stopped at the church closest to Sybil's flat and had lit a candle and said a prayer for Tom and for Sybil. Looking at her now he wondered how he had ever doubted her love for his brother.

"Sybil" he said softly but any further words were stopped with the arrival of Victoria and another man. He was tall and slim and had an air of authority.

Sybil turned towards the doorway and her face shuffled through a variety of emotions before she uttered "Twig?"

"I'm a bit old now and a bit more dignified to be called Twig don't you think?" His laugh was hearty and warming and brought a smile to Sybil.

Removing his hat he tousled his hair before opening his arms to welcome Sybil's embrace. "It's been years since I've seen either of you and now to be in a room with both of you is so refreshing."

"But what are you doing here in Dublin" Sybil asked.

"Ah" he said. "I'm here on a hush hush special project for the Prime Minister's office. That's why Torie contacted me and rather mysteriously asked me to come here this morning. She thinks I may be able to help you in some way."

* * *

His hand clasped behind his back, Edmund (formerly known as Twig) Montgomery stood at the window of his small office in Dublin Castle. What little view there was was obscured by the rain which now pelted against the stone pathways. It hadn't been easy to find Tom Branson since none of the record books had listed his name as a prisoner. To Edmund's surprise there had been quite a number of prisoners listed as _name unknown_. Some listed that way because they refused to give their names while others had been incapable of speaking at the time of their arrest and no one bothered to later fill in the name when the prisoner became capable of speaking. He did know the place, date and approximate time Tom was arrested and therefore he used that to establish possible identity.

The man he found looked little like the photograph Sybil had given him. His hair was long, dirty, and matted as was his beard and his body was gaunt. Edmund detected a resemblance to Cilllian and certainly the color of their eyes and hair were quite similar.

There was a knock on his office door and Edmund automatically said "Come in."

In response the door opened and three men, their faces wan and eyes dull, their bodies covered with oozing cuts and dark bruises and a general air of hopelessness, slowly limped into the room followed by Edmund's assistant. Edmund had selected the other two men to hide his interest in Tom in case anyone decided to check into what Edmund was doing. Despite their being bathed and clothed in fresh garb there was still a raw odor that followed them into the room. Tom winced as one of the other men accidently brushed against his shoulder and all three looked as if it had taken every ounce of strength they had to get here.

* * *

It had taken Edmund five days to bring Tom back to her but the Tom that came back was a shadow of the man that had left that October early morning for the garage. The gunshot wound on his shoulder was infected and oozed a yellowish-green foul smelling pus and he had developed a hacking cough. Those thought Sybil could be treated but what she feared more was the mental wounds. He had been home for three days and yet had failed to utter a single word and his eyes stared vacantly.

Sybil watched as Cillian lowered Tom into the warm soapy bath water. She then sat beside the tub and began gently washing his skin all the while talking slowly and soothingly to him.

"I was thinking about our wonderful trip to Howth. Oh what a wonderful time we had there Tom. I can't-"

Tom suddenly raised his hand and grabbed her hand holding the washcloth. Turning his face towards her he looked directly at face and for the first time since he had come back his eyes didn't seem like vacant dark pools.

"Sybil" he said slowly and hesitantly and in a voice so low Sybil wasn't sure he had actually said her name.

His hand slowly caressed the side of her face and then rubbed his thumb back and forth across her cheek. "Sybil" his voice still soft but a bit stronger.

Sybil nodded her head "yes Tom it's me Sybil."

"Oh Tom!" Tears flooded Sybil's eyes but her face was beaming.


	11. April 1921

**A/N: I've already thanked pearlydewdrop for her review of the last chapter but it is because of her that I'm finishing this story. This chapter was going to cover December and Sybil meeting with Mary and Isobel but since there is so little interest in this story I've decided to wrap it up. This was going to be the last chapter but even eliminating quite a bit of the story there was so much to cover to get to the ending (the same ending I always envisioned) that it will be in two parts.**

 **April 1921**

Sybil woke, her eyes adjusting to a room steeped in sunshine filtering in through flimsy curtains. She stood up and the tile floor felt cool on her bare feet. Looking towards the French doors she knew she could step on onto the balcony and into warm sunshine.

She'd stand on her hillside perch looking down across terraced lawns of green grass, flowering trees and shrubs to the village below nestled among hills of scrubby Cyprus trees and fronting the sea. The village provided a colorful sight with its red tile roofs of closely packed tall houses painted in an array of pastels, pinks, blues, and yellows, with awnings of bright greens, reds, blues protecting windows and cast iron balconies, many with window boxes overflowing with colorful blooming flowers, from the heat of the sun. Standing tall were graceful palms adding little shade but touches of more green. And there edging it all was the sea, stretching as far as one could see, shimmering in the sunlight water in shades of blue so unlike any sea or ocean she had ever seen before.

Was that just a dream? Would she step out onto that balcony and see the cold churning water of the tempestuous Irish Sea?

How could her life have changed so much in just a few short months?

She closed her eyes and thought back to how the new year had begun. Dublin had become so turbulent with a vicious cycle of attack and reprisal by both sides but on New Year's Day if just for a little while, in the workshop of Fergus' furniture shop with the carriage doors locked and bolted keeping the outside world at bay, in a makeshift dining room it looked like a family gathering celebrating the beginning of a new year. Everyone had contributed something for the dinner, resulting in a table full of dishes of roast pork and vegetables, coddle, and colcannon, soda bread and barmbrack. Watching them talking and laughing, clearing their plates of cake and biscuits, drinking tea, some of which she was sure had been laced with whiskey, Sybil had thought of how that day at least they were a family.

She thought of Fergus, that bear of a man, cheerily presiding over that table, who had proclaimed her barmbrack bread the best he had ever tasted. Dear Fergus who had become … friend didn't quite convey her feelings for him …

 _Fergus looked at the diamond and jade ring that a visibly nervous Sybil held in her hand. "I do believe you're already married my lass."_

 _Sybil gave him a faint smile before looking down at her hand. "It's worth quite a bit and you probably know where to get a better price than I could." She looked up at him. "It's been a couple of months since Tom's done any work for you and I haven't …" she held out the ring to him. "Take it in lieu of rent money. It should pay for -"_

" _I'll hear none of that my lass." Fergus clasped her hands in his. "Tom will be back on his feet one of these days and how many times this past month have you treated some poor lad shot or beaten by those thugs masquerading as a militia."_

" _But Fergus it's not just the rent" she began. "You're providing the coal to keep the flat warm and the electricity."_

" _The coal warms the whole building and the electricity is also for the whole building." He looked at her and smiled. "Besides what kind of godfather would I be if I let my goddaughter freeze?"_

Family. Those sitting around that table on New Year's day had become her family. Some of course were related to Tom but others like Mánús …

 _Sybil was surprised to open the door and see M_ _ánús, his shoulders permanently stooped from working on tables and chests, standing there. She had at first meetings thought him gruff but came to realize he was rather shy, someone much more comfortable around old furniture than with people. He always wore old coveralls and his hands seemed permanently stained but he had a way of making old furniture beautiful once more. He had never come to the flat before and seeing him alarmed her that something had happened to Fergus or one of the other lads. "Does Fergus need me for something?"_

" _Ah … no ma'am" he hesitantly responded as he looked down at the floor. While she waited for him to say whatever it was that had brought him to her door this morning she noted that he had traded his coveralls for a shirt looked freshly pressed and he had made an effort to tame his unruly red hair. Finally raising his hands he held out a beautifully carved box "I made this for the little lass."_

 _Sybil's eyes widened as she looked at the box. "For Keela?"_

 _As he nodded in response, he handed her the box. "It's so beautiful" Sybil said as she looked closely at the dark wooden box with its intricate carvings. Looking up at him she said "What a wonderful gift" causing him to smile._

 _Sybil opened the door wider. "Please come in and meet her."_

" _Ah" he shuffled his feet but didn't move. "Please_ _M_ _ánús come in."_

 _His eyes downcast he followed Sybil into the sitting room where Keela lay in her bassinette. She was surprised to see his face break out in a wide smile as he watched Keela happily gurgling and flaying her tiny arms. "She's beautiful like her Ma."_

" _Would you like to hold her" Sybil asked an astonished_ _M_ _ánús._

Would she ever see any of them again?

The squawking of two birds outside the window brought Sybil back to the present. Sybil walked towards the balcony.

January 1921

"I'm not sure he'll-" the words died on her lips as Sybil sighed deeply then ran her damp hands down the sides of her apron.

"You've given him a chance maam" came the grateful reply from one of the men who had brought him here. Although she didn't know him by name, they stayed anonymous for each other's safety, Sybil recognized him from previous visits here. "He's lucky you were the one to answer the call."

Staring down at the young lad laying on the cot, her hand gently brushed his hair back from his face. He looks so young Sybil thought, somewhere there must be a mother wondering why her son wasn't coming home tonight. "There's nothing more to be done right now. I'll stay with him through the night in case he-" her voice once again trailed off.

The man touched her arm. "We need to leave before curfew but there'll be someone downstairs and I'll have one of my men stay here with you."

"It won't be necessary" came the voice of another man who had just come into the room and Sybil smiled at the sound of Cillian's voice.

* * *

Sybil sat down in the stiff wooden chair thankful to finally be off her feet and greedily took a drink of steaming tea that that Cillian had brought with him. She was grateful that it was Cillian that was here with her for she had no qualms talking to him about her doubts of the other patient who sat on a cot at the far end of the room staring at them. Normally someone with such a superficial wound, the bullet had only glanced his arm leaving much blood but no lasting damage, would not stay here but this man had insisted he could not, would not, leave his comrade. Yet, to Sybil's eyes, he had shown more interest in those around him, the men who had brought him here than in his far graver wounded friend.

He had seemed especially interested in her trying to engage her in conversation. _But you're English so what makes you help us._ She had rebuffed all his attempts at conversation ( _this place must be so different from where you're from)_ feeling as if it were more interrogation than interest _._ He had tried opening one of the painted black windows, needing fresh air he had claimed, but Sybil thought he was trying to determine where he was.

"Cillian" she whispered fearing the man was only feigning sleep "I think there's something off about him" nodding her head slightly towards the man on the cot.

* * *

Robert Conlon stood uncomfortably in the foyer of the Major's house watching the pretty housemaid go inform the master of the house of his arrival. Usually they met in a pub as if two old acquaintances meeting by chance but Robbie knew that the Major would want to know this information right away. Although of course he wouldn't, couldn't, report everything that had happened. Robbie's hand brushed across his forehead. He'd tell of being blinded with a hood over his head, that was of course the truth at least for his arrival at that place. As to his leaving? He was sure the English nurse had drugged him for he had woken propped against a lamp post in St. Patrick's Park having no memory of how he had gotten there. Nor did he realize he had been followed since then, watched as he had groggily made his way to his little room in a dingy boarding house (part of his charade acting as Robert Conlon Irish rebel) and then followed here to the house of Major James Sutter.

"I've found her" Robbie blurted out as the Major walked towards him not realizing the housemaid was closely following him "the English nurse."

* * *

The only sounds in the dining room were the scrapping of a fork against a plate or the rattle of a teacup being set on a saucer. The two diners never looked at each other as they made their way through the appetizer (shrimp and slices of boiled egg on toast), the leek soup, and then the entrée of roast chicken. It was only as James finished the last of his apple tartlet that he set his fork down and looked at his wife.

"You've seen a bit down lately Victoria." Victoria looked warily at her husband. "I thought you'd feel more comfortable here now that you've met your friend Lady Sybil but you haven't mentioned her lately.

"Sybil's quite busy. She has an infant daughter and her husband's been quite sick."

James almost laughed at how this topic had just fallen into his lap. "Nothing serious I hope. But I guess she's nursing him back to health."

"Just as I'd look after you dear" she tartly replied.

"But isn't Lady Sybil a trained nurse?"

Victoria became more wary wondering just what James was really after, he certainly wasn't concerned about her welfare and certainly not about Sybil and her family. "Women of our class don't train for anything other than learning how to throw dinner parties."

 _Her accent is quite posh, obviously upper crust English. Name Sybil._ Robert had managed to learn quite a bit about the elusive English nurse that was helping the Irish rebels, clandestinely caring for their wounded. James glanced at Victoria. It was always a tricky subject bringing up the Great War with Victoria, she'd usually lapse into histrionics about her dead brothers. If only she knew how that insufferable fool brother of hers Reggie had really died.

"It's just that during the war quite a few stately homes were turned into convalescent homes and the women of your class did volunteer as nurses. Maybe Lady Sybil was one of them."

Why was James so insistent on this topic of Sybil and nursing Victoria wondered? She had the oddest feeling she needed to protect Sybil and so she wouldn't give James the satisfaction of the truth.

"I'd hardly call serving tea and writing letters for wounded men nursing. Besides if their home was used as a convalescent home I'm sure Sybil's father thought she was much too young, her older sisters might have served but neither of them ever struck me as caring and compassionate."

But James was undeterred. _Posh. Sybil._ It had to be Victoria's friend. He needed to find out here Lady Sybil lived. "Well I just hope her husband's illness is nothing too serious. Maybe you should go and visit her, cheer her up."

"Actually we're meeting for lunch on Thursday."

Ah this might work out better than I thought James. "Might you entertain her here?"

"No" the word came out more harshly than Victoria intended. "I mean it's a treat for both of us to get out of the house."

James nodded as if seeing his wife's point. "So is it the Shelbourne or another one of your hidden little tea shops?"

"Neither" Victoria took a sip of her tea. "Sybil suggested a restaurant near Trinity College."

"Is Lady Sybil taking classes there?"

"No but it's an area where we won't stand out being British."

"Yes one can't be too cautious these days."

"And who's-" Victoria stifled her thoughts on that subject not wanting to get into another fight with her husband. "I just hope it's a nice day and maybe we can walk around the university grounds."

* * *

The stage was set. He had men placed near the restaurant. As soon as Robert identified the woman meeting Victoria as the right Sybil he'd set his plan in motion. It was a capture that might earn him a promotion. It should also earn him a great deal of money for what English Earl would want it known that his daughter was working on behalf of the Irish rebels.

 **A/N: Just in case the guest who recently left a review of Downton Remembered is reading this I want to warmly thank you for that wonderful review. Reviews are so rare especially of an older story and this one came at a time when I was feeling quite down. I loved writing that story and I think it is my best one.**


	12. April 1921, part 2

**A/N: Since I condensed what would have been several chapters I hope this isn't too choppy. While I shortened the story, the ending is what I had always planned. In this perilous time I hope you and your loved ones stay safe and healthy.**

 **April 1921, part 2**

On the threshold of the balcony Sybil stopped, her mind still wandering back to these past few months, unsure of why this morning she was thinking of how she came to be here. Yet she couldn't help think how one seemingly small act, meeting Victoria for lunch, could have such a profound effect not only on her life but on those she loved so deeply. That day had been cold and grey so typical of Dublin in January, and that morning had begun like most of those that had come before and she had no inkling that when that day ended she'd be …

January

Leaning against the booth's high leather back Sybil savored the finely brewed tea. "This has been such a treat for me." Setting her tea cup on the table she was suddenly gripped with a pang of guilt for she knew Tom's lunch was broth with bits of carrots and potatoes. Much to her relief the wound on his shoulder had finally healed but he was so weak and his cough still persisted and she feared that it might yet evolve into pneumonia. If only she had access to better food but there were so many food shortages these days and she'd soon use the last of the fruits and vegetables that Mrs. Branson had canned.

Sensing her friend's mixed emotions, Victoria reached her hand across the table and clasped Sybil's hand. "You deserve a bit of time for yourself. You've been through so much these past few months. You-" the sounds of glass breaking and a scream interrupted Victoria. She craned her neck to look towards the front of the cafe to see what was happening but her view was obstructed by a partial wall and by other customers standing up while others began running towards the café's front door.

"Whatever is going on?" she murmured. "Oh my God Sybil I think someone has" her words drowned out by the sounds of chairs falling and people screaming as smoke began clouding the air.

"Come with me" through the din a man's calm voice drew Victoria's attention. Standing beside their table, he looked vaguely familiar as his hand reached for Sybil and then he nodded at Victoria who also quickly stood up. Instead of following the other diners towards the front of the cafe, he led them towards the back of the café and into a narrow hallway.

In the clearer air of the narrow hallway it suddenly dawned on her that the man was Sybil's brother-in-law Cillian whom she had first met when she brought Twig to meet with Sybil at Claudette's. Since then they had met a couple of times when she visited Sybil's flat and Victoria felt her cheeks blush as she remembered finding him quite charming and attractive with a roguish smile but here in this hallway that beguiling smile was absent replaced by an unexpected seriousness.

"Whatever are you-" Victoria began but Cillian ignored her as he turned and opened the door. Standing in the doorway he leaned out and looked left and right before ushering Sybil and Victoria out the door. Then grabbing Sybil's arm he quietly said "Come" as they hurried across the alley to the back door of another building which he opened and they stepped into a storeroom full of crates and boxes with Cillian quickly closing and locking the door behind him.

* * *

She had remained silent as they had fled the café and made their way here but now standing in the posh sitting room of Claudette's flat, Sybil wanted answers. Her eyes blazing, her arms folded across her chest, she glared at Cillian. "Cillian tell me what is going on" Sybil demanded in her most Lady Sybil voice.

"You were right to be leery of that man last week" Cillian began "the one when we spent the night tending to his friend." Sybil paled as she listened as Cillian told the man actually worked for Victoria's husband who was searching for the English nurse giving aid to the Irish rebels. Feeling her legs weaken, Sybil's hands grasped the back of the wing chair so as to steady herself as she heard of Kate overhearing the man revealing his finding of Sybil and Major Sutter's plans to arrest her and Kate sounding the alarm propelling Cillian into the action that thwarted Major Sutter's plans to arrest Sybil as she left the café after lunching with Victoria.

"We need to get you to a safe house."

"But Tom and Keela-"

Cillian gently reached for Sybil's arm. "They're safe. They're upstairs napping with Meg watching over them."

"Upstairs" Sybil softly repeated. "I need to see …" she took a step towards the wide arched doorway. Then stopping, she turned to face Cillian, her voice almost a whisper she said "Torie …" Her lips trembled "Torie … did she know?"

Cillian vigorously shook his head and once again reached out to touch Sybil's arm. "She had no idea what her husband was planning." Sybil closed her eyes as she fell against Cillian.

* * *

Victoria stood at the sideboard refilling her glass with sherry when she heard the front door slam shut. Downing the small glass of amber liquid she closed her eyes as the soothing liquid trickled down her throat.

"Ah here you are" her husband's voice boomed out from the doorway of the sitting room.

"Where else would I be at this time of day" she answered as she set her empty glass down on the sideboard before walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

Walking into the room, James picked up a bottle of whiskey and filled a glass. He took a deep drink before turning and looking at his wife. His voice steady but filled with an underlying anger that Victoria could detect. "So how was your luncheon?"

"You probably know more than me about what happened but as you can see I came away unscathed."

"And how did that happened?"

Victoria took a deep breath and then stood up. "Your concern for me is quite touching."

As she started to walk out of the room, James grabbed her arm making her wince. "How did you get out of the café?"

Instead of answering him she looked down at her arm. "You're hurting me." The stare she gave him caused him to pause wondering _why have you finally developed a backbone._

But he dropped her arm "Smoke bombs don't usually cause much damage" he responded. _But very useful as a diversion_ he thought.

"Smoke bomb?" Puzzlement evident in both her face and voice.

He nodded his head. "Apparently some kids threw them through several shop windows including your café."

"I thought it strange that the air was so thick with smoke but it didn't smell like anything was burning."

"When you came out of the café you should have gone up to one of our soldiers and they would have made sure you got home safely."

"But I did get home safely. Anyway I didn't see any soldiers. Another diner led us out through the back door into an alleyway and I found a taxi about a block away." She turned to leave.

"And your friend Lady Sybil did she get home safely?"

Victoria turned back to face her husband. "I imagine so. The trams were running."

"Ah that's right she lives outside the city. Maybe we should move out there it might be safer for you and you'd have a friend close by. Where does she live?"

"I think you've asked me this before" Victoria shook her head. "If she ever told me the name I don't remember." She wasn't sure why she had lied to her husband about Sybil and continued now to do so but there was something about his curiosity and inquisitiveness that bothered her. It was as if James suspected Sybil of something and while he was secretive about his work here in Ireland she did have more than an inkling of what he was up to and she would protect her friend in any way she could.

* * *

February

After filling his glass, it took all of his effort not to throw the half empty bottle of whiskey against the wall. Despite the outward appearance of calm and control, inside James Sutter was seething. His attempts to find Sybil had come up empty. Now his plant, his best hope for finding her or at least a lead to her, had disappeared. No one had seen Robert Conlon for over a week now, not since, according to his landlady, he had left his room headed to the pub.

He took a long deep drink from his glass. _How could …_ He took another drink. He held the glass so tight it was surprising it didn't break. _I'll not be made a food of … not but that woman and not by my wife._ He threw the glass across the room where it shattered and shards of glass and whiskey rain downed the wall.

Kate, who had been mopping in the hallway, heard the noise and came running towards the sitting room. Reaching the wide arched doorway she met James. "Clean up this mess" he barked as he shoved past her.

* * *

Sybil was so tired, more tired than she had ever been in her life. The bath tub wasn't even half full but it took too much time and effort to heat enough water to fill it. Satisfied that there was enough water to soak in, Sybil lowered herself into the warm bathwater wishing she had some scented bath salts. Leaning back against the tub Sybil closed her eyes wanting to shut out all thoughts and just luxuriate in the warm water but no peaceful thoughts came to mind only the harsh reality of her situation.

They had been here for almost two weeks now and she was alarmed at how quickly Tom's physical condition had worsened but this little cottage was dark, damp and drafty and she was having a hard time keeping it warm. Just like she was having a hard time keeping them… _oh Tom … Keela … I've …_ the tears started running down her cheeks, not gentle tears but a torrent of tears as Sybil sat in the cooling water, her forehead resting on her bent knees, her chest heaving as the tears flowed.

She sobbed until there were no more tears left.

As she sat in the now cold water taking deep breaths Sybil she heard the sounds of a motor car slowly making its way down the narrow unpaved path leading to the cottage. _Oh please let it be Cillian come to take us away from here._

There was only a thin curtain that separated the bathtub from the rest of the kitchen and Sybil quickly wrapped her bathrobe around her and silently crossed the wooden floor to the window. Peering out from behind the window's faded cotton curtains, fear gripped her as an unfamiliar small black truck came to a stop in front of the cottage's door but that fear turned to relief as Fergus, Meg and then Mrs. Branson stepped out onto the sparse grass. All three were startled at the sight of the pale and wan Sybil that greeted them, her normally glossy dark hair a drab mess and deep dark circle under her eyes. The blue color of the chenille bathrobe usually accented the blue of Sybil's eyes but this morning could not hide redness of her recent tears.

A sleepless Victoria looked over at her sleeping husband and knew she had to get away from him. Since that day she had lunched with Sybil he was barely able to hide his hostility towards her. She knew she should have left him months ago but she had been determined not to leave until she retrieved the money he had stolen from her.

It was still dark when Victoria tiptoed out of her bedroom and made her way downstairs. She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs wondering if a glass of whiskey would calm her nerves but she shook her head and instead headed towards the back of the house and her small sitting room. She pulled her thick cotton robe around her before sinking into the room's sole lounge chair giving her a view of the back garden. The inky blackness of the night sky had paled but there was yet no sign of a rising sun. Somehow looking at the sky gave her a sense of peace and calmness and by the time the sky held the first hints of dawn she had made her plans.

March

Her spirits had been lifted with the arrival of Mrs. Branson and Meg for they had offered much help and relief to an overwhelmed Sybil. The pale and listless Tom whose body was racked by a hacking cough had improved a little bit which Sybil attributed to a better diet now that she could go into the closest town while Mrs. Branson watched Tom and Keela.

Yet as February drifted into March Sybil was restless. It helped that she and Meg took long walks, sometimes in the woods and fields surrounding the cottage and sometimes in to town which was large enough not to notice them. Returning from one of their walks the pair stopped short at the distant sight of a black motor car parked in front of the cottage. "It's probably just Cillian or Fergus coming back to get Aunt Fi and me" Meg whispered to Sybil.

"Maybe you should stay here until-" but Meg didn't finish her sentence as a broad smile crossed face. "It's Cillian!"

"Tell me it's okay for us to go home" Sybil pleaded as she hugged her brother-in-law.

"Fraid not" Cillian replied. "In fact Major Sutter has quietly put a bounty on you."

His words were like a knife tearing through her body and Sybil slumped against the car. "No … no … no!"

Cillian took Sybil into his arms. "I-"

But Sybil was too distraught to listen to him. "We can't stay here much longer. Tom needs-"

Cillian's hand gently touched Sybil's chin and tilted her face up towards him. "I've brought someone who thinks-"

"Sybil" Both Cillian and Sybil turned towards the woman who was now standing between them and the cottage's front door. Although the voice sounded familiar, Sybil crinkled her forehead in confusion as she looked at the woman with the short dark hair. "Torie?" she finally said as recognition dawned on her face.

Torie's hand immediately patted her hair. "New haircut, new color. Yes it's me Sybil."

 **April**

Sybil didn't mind that this villa wasn't at the water's edge because its hillside location gave her this wonderful view. A warm breeze ruffled her hair as she watched the sober clothed maid Marie on the terrace below setting the table for breakfast. Meals here were leisurely affairs and almost all taken outside on the terrace. Meg came out onto the terrace and said bonjour to Marie. _Between learning French, swimming in the pool, devouring exotic, to Irish standards, food I may never get her to leave this place_ Sybil chuckled.

Her hands resting on the ornate cast iron railing, Sybil tilted her head back, closed her eyes and let the sunshine wash across her face. She had grown up being told a lady never lets the sun color her face but like so many things these days that was something she no longer felt obliged to obey. Taking a deep breath she inhaled air sweetly perfumed from the shrubs and plants growing in tubs and terra cotta pots dotted across the stone terrace below and felt a peacefulness that she hadn't felt in a long time.

 _The past cannot be changed so concentrate on the present_. How many times since she'd been here had Torie's Aunt Margie utter those words? Sybil chuckled thinking that Aunt Margie was as colorful as the scene from this balcony. Five husbands? Or was it six? Each husband dying and leaving her richer than before. Leaving her a house in Belgrave Square, a chalet in Switzerland, and this villa in France overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Torie's uncle had been husband three, or was it four, and Margie had doted on her husband's little niece. While the rest of Torie's family had cut relations with Margie when her husband died, Torie secretly continued to correspond with the lively, spirited Margie. And in her time of need it was Aunt Margie who opened her home to not only Torie but also Sybil.

Torie, accompanied by Sybil, Tom, Keela, and Meg had fled Ireland for this peaceful place. Here in this sunny spot and with a diet full of fresh vegetables and fruit Tom had finally shed his cough and each day had become stronger and stronger.

 _Concentrate on the present._ But Sybil couldn't help but think of and miss those they had left behind: Mrs. Branson who tearily pleaded _May God keep you safe and someday bring you back to us_ ; Fergus and the men at the shop; Kate who had saved Sybil by rushing to Cillian and telling him of the Major's plot; and of course Cillian, the man she had come to love as a brother, the man who had risked his life to save her.

Sybil didn't hear Tom step onto the balcony and only became aware of his presence as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. Oh wonderful it was to have her Tom back!

"So have you decided on where we're going?" he whispered in her ear.

"I know we talked about exploring the coast and maybe even going as far as Rome but we could just wander closer to here. Margie says Nimes is wonderful for Roman ruins. And then there's the Alps."

"So still not decided?" Tom chuckled.

"May be could just get in the motor car and decide as we come to a junction which way to go?

"You mean just see where the road takes us?"

Sybil shrugged her shoulders. "Why not?"

The lighthearted moment became silent as Sybil looked out across the valley below. Then turning to face him she said "Tom ever since I've known you you've talked about freedom for Ireland and now it seems closer than ever."

Tom raised his brow wondering where this conversation was going.

"I know I can't go back, not just yet, but you can go back to Ireland. You could still play a role in her independence. I'd stay here with Meg and Torie."

"Sybil" Tom took her hand in his. "After coming so close to death I know one thing very well and that is that my place is with you. Till the end of my days I'll be with you."

With tears in her eyes, Sybil's hand gently traced the outline of Tom's face. "And I'll always be with you."


End file.
